The Last Prince I: The Road to Nobility
by C.M. Oliver is eastwoodgirl
Summary: Post War, Severus Snape escapes the clutches of Death, only to be pulled into the most horrendous faith of being bound to an unjust and corrupt Ministry of Magic. With Dumbledore dead by his hands and Harry Potter gone missing in action, who is to prove his innocence and true allegiance? See inside for full summary and warnings. AU.
1. Prologue

**THE LAST PRINCE (T; MYSTERY/ ROMANCE; SS/ HP)**

***PART ONE:**** THE ROAD TO NOBILITY (Prologue –Chapter 19)**

***Summary: Post War, Severus Snape escapes the clutches of Death, only to be pulled into the most horrendous faith of being bound to an unjust and corrupt Ministry of Magic. With Dumbledore dead by his hands and Harry Potter gone missing in action, who is to prove his innocence and true allegiance? Meanwhile, a revolution is cooking up from within the bonds of the past as the legendary High Lord of Wizengamot emerges from awnings long-forgotten. What is his involvement in our favorite Potions Master's current plight? Will he be able to stop this in time? And where in the world is Harry Potter? Will he come back to save the fate of a man who despised him so?**

PART TWO: THE PACT AND A PROPHECY (Chapter 20-50)

_Summary:__Now that Lord Tristan Peverell had successfully rescued Severus Snape from the clutches of an unjust Ministry and has rightfully restored power to where it truly belongs, their lives will suddenly take an unexpected turn as they continue to rule Wizarding Britain. Part Two of this trilogy will see our dynamic duo back at Hogwarts. A new prophecy comes to light and the pact between the Houses of Peverell and Prince will be put to the ultimate test. Allegiances are revealed and tested and new enemies will arise. What shall become of our Last Prince and his beloved Chosen One? Find out._

PART THREE: THE FINAL ACT (Chapter 51- Epilogue)

Summary: (to be released)

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_**Disclaimer: See Part I: Prologue**_

_**Warnings: See Part I: Prologue**_

_**Legend: **_ "dialogue" _'thoughts' __**flashback/notes**_

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**A/N: It's baaaaaaaaaack! Feel free to re-read before proceeding to Part 2.**

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**The Last Prince I**

**The Road to Nobility**

**By: C.M. Oliver**

**© 2013**

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_For the countless stories that were banished from this site (FFNet) –C._

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**Prologue: The Pact**

(Scotland, 1800's)

Silver droplets of rain pounded heavily against the stone paved ground, thundering like a proverbial herd of rampaging hippogriffs on adrenalin –simply put, the sky was waging a ruthless war against the earth, as if trying to erode its share of imperfection, which was a lot to say the least.

The pounding went on relentlessly for what seemed like eons –not one moment holding back, not one instance yielding to the silent pleas of the grounds. For days, the vales knew no sun, the plains knew no warmth, the mountains knew no reprieve from nature's lambasting. It was to be no different anytime soon.

It was one of these gray, wet, and overcast days in September that a sudden unmitigated disturbance occurred, disrupting the already syncopated pitter-patter that normally dominated the consciousness of the beings residing in the large manor atop Carlisle Hill.

A large, char coal-gray falcon flapped its wings fervently against the howling wind and the unforgiving rain –never mind that for every inch he made forward, he was thrown back by about a foot. As a bird, his instinct was to hide and wait out until the storm reined itself. As a devoted familiar, he was to obey his master's command; and that command was to deliver the missive tied to his leg, by hook or by crook. The falcon's huge amber eyes understood the urgency of the matter: it was a matter of life and death.

Soon enough, the bird reached the castle-like abode that was his destination, and right away, he searched for a sentient being to deliver his letter to. The falcon flew and made his way towards the nearest window. With his beak, he tapped against the rain-fogged glass.

'_Plink, plink, plink,'_

A man dressed handsomely in a plain, white long-sleeved shirt, black loose trousers and dragon hide boots looked up from his seat by the fireplace. A momentary frown crossed his delicate features as he searched for the origination of the disturbance. His emerald eyes roamed until his gaze fell on the window to his left.

'_Plink, plink, plink,'_

The man sighed as he stood up from his upholstered seat and made his way towards the black blob that was outside his window.

"You poor creature," he intoned in a soft voice as he undid the latch and opened the window. The falcon glided in and settled itself by the mantel piece –wet, ruffled but dignified. He stuck out the leg that bore his burden.

The soft-spoken man raised an eyebrow before drawing closer. He stopped about a foot away from the bird and reached into his boots for a long thin stick made out of almond –his wand.

"Let us dry you out first, shall we?"

He then cast a quick drying charm on his feathery guest. The falcon crowed appreciatively. The man smiled. He then pocketed his wand and proceeded to relieve the bird of its burden.

The scroll was soggy, but the emerald-eyed man patiently unraveled it. The message was short and terse:

_**To whom it may concern:**_

_**I am a travelling Potions apprentice, attacked by a cursed boar in the Forest of Glen and in need of help.**_

_**Please tap the parchment twice with your wand and say 'monkshood' to activate the portkey.**_

_**E.P.**_

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A man with long, inky black hair lay in a rocky clearing nestled within the Forest of Glen. Broken, useless potions vials were scattered around him. His alder wand, he held in a death grip –but it was to be of no use to him at the present. A cursed boar's bite and poison were impervious to regular healing spells. He needed a specific potion to counter it, a potion he certainly did not have with him at the moment. He needed to get out of the grove.

The rain continued to pour; the wounded man was soaked to the bone. He had already used the last of his able magic to create the letter portkey and send it with his beloved familiar, Tigris. He only hoped that whoever encountered his loyal falcon would be willing to help a stranger.

Lightning struck and thunder roared –and the wounded man's obsidian eyes began to flutter as he awaited help –or his untimely death, whichever came first. The next time light drew an angry pattern on the sky though, his eyes were completely closed.

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When the obsidian eyes opened once more, he was no longer in the clearing.

"Thank Merlin, you are awake," a soft male voice welcomed his consciousness. The wounded man blinked as he let his hazy vision adjust.

"Do you still feel pain on your left shoulder?" that voice asked again. The wounded man shook his head and rubbed his eyes. When he opened them fully, he was staring into the most brilliant pair of viridian eyes he had ever seen.

"Wh-where am I?"

The emerald eyes brightened even more.

"Carlisle Hill, Nile Peverell, Lord of the Manor."

The wounded man tensed and focused his vision. The man in front of him wore an easy smile on his handsome features. Lord Nile Peverell was young –and disarming to say the least. The wounded man found it hard to speak after that. Lord Peverell had sensed it though.

"You have been unconscious for a fortnight, sir. Your magical core had been severely depleted. I must say, you have a very devoted familiar –he managed to reach me through that horrendous thunderstorm. If he were a minute late –I may have lost you.

"Th-thank you, my Lord."

"Please, call me Nile," The young lord said, waving his hand. "My father will always be **the** Lord Peverell. Bless his soul. He left this world far too soon." He then sighed and turned to the wounded man.

"What shall I call you then?" he asked genially. The wounded man flushed and made a move to sit, but pain immediately assaulted his senses. Nile pushed him down on the bed, gently.

"Keep still now. The potion I gave you managed to clear the poison on your first night here, but the wound is still open. I am still waiting for another potion to finish brewing to close it up completely. Right at this moment, only a mild numbing potion is in effect –I cannot give you anything stronger for it may affect your regenerating core." He explained. The wounded man nodded.

"Euphrates. Euphrates Prince." He croaked, his onyx eyes fixed on his gracious host and savior. "I owe my life to you, Lord Peverell –"

"Nile, please –"

"Nile, then. I thank you. Please let me know what I can do to repay your kindness."

Nile smiled and shook his head.

"No need for that, my dear Euphrates. Like my late mother, I am a healer by profession. My vow is to save lives –I did what I could."

Euphrates sighed.

"I am of the House of Prince. We value a life debt greatly, my Lord –without exceptions. And as the Lord-Apparent – Please let me know what favor I can fulfill for you in return."

Nile chuckled lightly.

"I see," The emerald-eyed man then ran his fingers through his long, tousled, jet black hair. "Well, Euphrates, I have nothing to ask of you at the top of my head at this very instance –I will make you a deal however."

The young Prince raised one perfectly arched eyebrow.

"And that is?"

Nile smiled.

"I shall give you my condition, for you to fulfill, once the wound on your shoulder fully closes."

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It had been a week since Euphrates had awakened in the guest chambers of Peverell Manor. In those seven days, he had developed a comfortable rapport with his host, Nile Peverell. The young lord was charming, enigmatic and gracious. Euphrates learned that the man was only about his age and was a practicing healer. His father, the late Ignotus Peverell, succumbed to a long-standing after-effect of a curse casted by a warlock. Nile had to step up at a tender age of five as Lord of the Manor with his mother's help until the woman died when he was 17. Nile subsequently took the mantle of the High Lord of Wizengamot as soon as he hit the age of majority. Euphrates knew enough of the politics of his day, hid own father, Potions Master Morpheus Prince, being a member of the House of Lords himself –the High Lordship was almost equivalent to royalty in WIzarding Britain.

But Nile was anything but superficial as were the rulers of that day. He was not the stiff, jaded politician that characterized the Lords of Wizengamot. No, Euphrates observed. If anything, the young lord was the exact opposite; he was humble and simple –and he seemed to detest the spotlight.

On the night marking the first week of Euphrates' consciousness, he was already able to move about. He planned on leaving the next morning to continue his journey searching for rare potions ingredients. He carefully packed his trunk that lay open by the foot of his bed, inside the guest chambers Nile had prepared for him during his stay. He was securing his crystal phials when a knock was heard.

"You are aware that you need not announce your presence in your own house, Nile."

The young lord in question ushered himself in with that charming smile on his face that made Euphrates' heart skip a beat every time.

"It is only polite, Euphrates," Nile said softly. Then, upon seeing the trunk, "Leaving so soon?"

Euphrates nodded.

"I have no wish to further exploit your courtesy Nile. You have done more than enough for me." The potions apprentice gestured towards his healed shoulder.

Nile sighed.

"Completely closed then?"

Euphrates nodded again. Nile moved closer and touched Euphrates' shoulder gently. When the onyx-eyed man did not flinch, Nile released the breath he was holding. He let go of the younger man.

"Very well, I shall let you finish your task of packing then," The emerald-eyed lord said with a hint of disappointment in his voice. Euphrates frowned as he watched his host leave the room.

"Nile, a moment please."

Lord Peverell stopped in his tracks. But when he did not turn around, Euphrates crossed the room to bridge their gap. He touched his savior's shoulder lightly.

"Nile, the condition. Remember the deal you made with me? Tell me what I can do to repay you."

Euphrates heard the young lord sigh deeply before turning to face him. The potions apprentice once again found himself captured by those mesmerizing eyes. He found it incredibly hard to breathe as Nile drew closer.

"Nile –"

The rest of his words were snatched as he found himself being kissed by the young lord. Yes, there was no mistaking it –as Nile Peverell's lips connected with his –Euphrates felt his heart cease beating completely. The kiss was but a couple of seconds, soft and chaste, but for Euphrates, it felt like a lifetime –one that he had no second thoughts of reliving. His onyx eyes were still wide in surprise when Nile moved away, breaking the kiss.

"Euphrates, I –"

"Nile –"

Nile seemed to hesitate, but after a beat, he placed a gentle finger against his guest's soft, pale lips.

"Your debt has been repaid. You may leave in the morning.

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The morning was still cold and damp, that day in December, when a familiar rapping was heard in Peverell Manor. Lord Nile Peverell looked up from his customary seat by the fire. He let a small smile grace his full lips as he waved his wand to open the fogged up window to his left.

"You are a persistent as your owner, Tigris."

The large charcoal-gray falcon crowed in agreement as he landed on the emerald-eyes man's shoulder, sticking his left leg out.

"He is only making it difficult for himself,"

Tigris merely glared at him and continued to hold his leg that contained his burden up. Nile shrugged as he untied the rolled-up parchment that bore a familiar seal.

"One day, Tigris, your owner's descendants will curse the day he made this pact with me. Euphrates and his honoring of life debts –bah!"

The falcon's amber eyes blinked. Nile sighed once more.

"Fine, I will honor the bloody parchment. It is not that I do not wish to see you no longer, my dear –quite the contrary –but I am worried that you will already tire of me. What, with three months of going back and forth between Carlisle Hill and Peverell Manor? I am quite surprised that you have not yet declared a mutiny against your bullheaded master."

Tigris crowed. Nile smiled at the bird.

"I envy you my friend. If only I were a bird –" his voice drifted.

The falcon cocked his head to one side, as if ruminating on what this human friend of his master had been trying to say. Nile reached out a finger to stroke the bird's magnificent head.

"If only thing were simple. Tigris… then your master and I –" he sighed resignedly. "But I am not giving up. Quite the contrary." He then returned the scroll to the bird's leg and guided it towards the window. Nile watched Tigris take off with a fond smile on his face.

"I am not giving up. The House of Peverell shall wait until the time comes –to claim the Last Prince."

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**End A/N**_**: **__And this is the part where I grovel at your feet in supplication. Yeah, yeah, I know it's been a while since I actually posted anything at all. But that doesn't mean that I was lazing around doing nothing. I have tons of stuff written down. I just couldn't find time to actually finalize anything and upload them here on FFN or in my Tumblr Account. Reason #1: CTS. Reason#2: My hard drive was sympathetic to the government shut down and abandoned me as well. Reason#3: I fell in love. Got broken. Wallowed in misery for a while. Recovered. By the way, you can also check me and my stuff out at:_

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	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1 The Aftermath**

(Scotland, July 25, 1998)

**THE DAILY PROPHET SPECIAL EDITION:**

_**The Boy Who Lived to Defeat the Dark Lord, Still Missing**_

_**By Artie Kester**_

_Weeks after his spectacular defeat of He-Who-Must-Not-be-Named, Wizarding Savior, Harry James Potter, 17, has still yet to make an appearance to the general public. As of press time, no one seems to know the actual location or circumstance of our reluctant hero, although we have been repeatedly assured by certain individuals who are reportedly close to Mr. Potter that even if they have yet to see him after the Great Battle of Hogwarts, he is in good condition and is only preferring isolation at the moment._

_The general public however should be cautioned not to take these words at face value. Rumours that Mr. Potter has taken the brunt of the magical backlash, resulting from the destruction of the Dark Lord, reducing him to almost a squib, still abound. Until we see our saviour for our own eyes, we reserve the right to speculate on what has truly become of the one and the only Harry Potter._

_**New Appointees in the Ministry**_

_**By David Scarborough**_

_In an unprecedented stroke of genius, Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, has approved the appointments of Dolores Jane Umbridge as Chief of Wizengamot, and Rufus Srimgeour as Deputy Minister… (Continued in page 8)_

_**Werewolf and Half-Breed Registry Legislation to be Sponsored Personally by Chief of Wizengamot**_

_**By Ares Magnum**_

_New Wizengamot Chief, Dolores Umbridge, has pushed for a new legislation decreeing that all werewolves and half-breeds such as vampires and half-giants register themselves together with other creatures with the Department of Control and Regulation of Magical Creatures. The new proposal also further suggests the banning of the use of wands for these said half-breeds as well as the prohibition for them to receive magical education… (Continued in page 6)_

_**Segregation of Muggleborns**_

_**By Tory Moonstone**_

_Wizengamot Head, Dolores Umbridge is campaigning for the proposed segregation of Muggleborn Witches and Wizards. In the final draft she has submitted for the Wizengamot deliberations, this said segregation is suggested to be applied on all those with no magical parentage residing within Wizarding Britain. This law, once effective shall encompass living conditions, education, rights and benefits, taxes and the like… (Continued in page 6)_

_**Death Eater Round-Ups**_

_**By Anita Primrose**_

_The Department of Magical Law Enforcement is pleased to announce that all known Death Eaters have either been apprehended and detained, or dead and accounted for. In a statement, DMLE head Amelia Bones has confirmed this most wonderful news. Trials and subsequent sentencing schedules shall be released in the following days._

_**Hogwarts: Revamped and Ready; Snape reinstated as Deputy and Potions Master**_

_**By Devon Frigate**_

_Newly instated Headmistress, Minerva McGonagall, has issued a statement that Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry shall be opened and ready for occupancy come September 1st._

_Just a few months after its destruction, Headmistress McGonagall and her dedicated team had been successful in rebuilding the premier magical school in Great Britain, as well as fill in the staffing that had been decimated tremendously during the last war._

_In a controversial move, the Board of School Governors had also approved the appointment and reinstatement of Severus Tobias Snape, 38, as Deputy Headmaster and Potions Professor. Professor Snape, as we all know and remember, had been appointed by You-Know-Who as Headmaster during his brief reign of terror and has subsequently relinquished the position. Insider information reveals that the top Potions Master of Britain (second only to the late Horace Slughorn) had been working as a spy for the side of the Light (together with Lucius Malfoy and family who were earlier sent into exile by Ministerial Decree 1803-98) and had been vouched for by the late Albus Dumbledore, former Chief of Wizengamot, Supreme Mugwump and Headmaster of Hogwarts. However, the truth to this matter remains to be undetermined as no solid proof remained, proceeding the death of the former Chief Warlock. And while Hogwarts and the Board had expressed their support for the Ex-Death Eater, Minister Cornelius Fudge and Wizengamot Chief Dolores Umbridge remain convinced that Severus Snape is a danger to our free society. And although the man has played a role in the destruction of You-Know-Who, certain restrictions have to be placed to guarantee the safety of our people. A trial and criminal sentencing is pushed for… (Continued in page 10)_

_**Severus Snape: Saint or Scoundrel?**_

_**By Artie Kester**_

_In the absence of our boy hero, Harry Potter, the mantle of the most controversial figure post-war, falls unto the sinewy shoulders of Death Eater Severus Snape. IN the past it is widely known that the sketchy Potions Master has been vouched for by Albus Dumbledore. But following the former Hogwarts Headmaster's demise in his charge's own hands, this act comes into considerable question and scrutiny._

_As this reporter had previously written, a mysterious vial containing what turned out to be memories, had been delivered to the desk of DMLE Head Amelia Bones, only hours after the defeat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. And while the DMLE denies knowing the origin or the content of the said vial, insider information confirms that this actually holds memories of a certain kind, pertaining to the innocence of one Severus Snape –and that the vial also contains magical signatures of Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter._

_Many express doubt over its authenticity, however, including top figures in the Ministry. For one, this reporter supposes, why would Dumbledore help clear the name of his murderer? And two, animosity between Mr. Potter and Professor Snape is legendary, as attested to by people close to the two –why would Harry Potter work to exonerate his most hated Professor? We can only guess, dear readers, as to the truth of the matter, as both surviving parties remain unavailable for comments…_

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"Unavailable for comments? UNAVAILABLE my arse!"

Severus Snape breathed heavily through his gritted teeth as he threw the newspaper he was reading. It landed in his bowl of porridge, causing a spray of cereal to land on the front of his otherwise pristine robes. To his immediate left, Minerva McGonagall sighed.

"Calm down, Severus. Those who matter know of your innocence. Since when did you care for public perception anyway?"

"Since Dolores Umbridge." The Potions Master muttered darkly, reaching into his robes. He then produced a heavily crumpled piece of parchment and threw it at the Headmistress' plate. Minerva eyed the scroll warily.

"From the Ministry?" she confirmed, seeing the familiar seal of the Wizengamot. When her Deputy said nothing further, she grabbed the letter and began to read:

_**Dear Severus,**_

_**I am sure you are aware of the current situation concerning your liberties. With your loyalties still in question, I have devised a way for you to escape punishment should the courts declare you guilty.**_

_**I have convinced Cornelius to release you into my custody and bind you to me in marriage –only for public safety, of course. Consider it as a Slytherin helping another. No need to thank me as we would both benefit from this arrangement, for sure.**_

_**Yours,**_

_**Dolores**_

Minerva could not help but gag on the bacon she was munching on. Aurora Sinistra who was on her left, noticed and started rubbing circles on her back. Minerva smiled gratefully at the new Head of Ravenclaw House. She then eyed Severus.

"Severus, I –"

"I should just throw myself to the Dementors of Azkaban. I'd rather be Kissed than bond with that hag!" The new Deputy Headmaster (He relinquished Headship of Slytherin to Septima Vector) growled. "After all that I've done, after all that I've given up –" he picked up the letter Minerva had laid back on the table. "THIS –this is what I get?"

Minerva sighed once more.

"Severus, of all, you will not stand trial as a common criminal, I will not allow it. You have the confidence of the Board –"

"What good would that do it that cow, Umbridge, has the Ministry in her back pocket? That bitch has had it for me since she became High Inquisitor! If I knew this was to happen, I should have just let Nagini finish me off instead of downing that anti-venom –"

"But what would she gain by binding you to her in marriage?" Minerva asked. "Not that I'm saying it will happen, but –"

"My magic." Severus spat out angrily. Minerva stared at him thoughtfully. That made sense. With Albus and Voldemort gone, Severus Snape was one of the most powerful wizards alive, second to none, perhaps only Harry potter. A wizarding bond would allow for a sharing of magic between two parties. She let out a deep breath.

"Don't worry Severus, if it ever comes to a trial, you will have my testimony for your defense –all of us –the Order, the Board –"

"It will not matter, Minerva." Severus shook his head. "Fudge and Umbridge has it in the bag, so to speak. Anything short of Albus Dumbledore's personal appearance to speak on my behalf would not convince he Wizengamot of my innocence. In theirs, and the public's eye as well, I am already guilty –might as well kill myself now, before that toad forces me into marriage." He shuddered at the thought. "Damn Ministry bigots!"

"What about Harry's testimony, Severus?"

The Potions Master grimaced.

"Do you happen to know where the esteemed Mr. Potter is Minerva? I have it on good authority that the Daily Prophet is offering galleons in exchange for any information on his whereabouts."

Minerva folded her arms across her chest.

"Well, we can try to locate him. I wonder if Remus –"

"Minerva, if the brat wished to be located, we would not be having this conversation. To tell you frankly, I am quite surprised that Potter has managed to escape the prying eyes of the Ministry. For once, he has employed whatever little common sense he had –"

"Severus!"

"What? It's true. I will only say this once; it was an unusual inspired stroke of genius on his part, to let himself fad in the shadows. Do you have any idea what would happen if he was here? The Ministry would stop at nothing until they have the Boy-Who-Lived working as their poster boy."

"He will not have a moment's peace," Minerva murmured.

"Precisely. And besides, you've read the general consensus. The brat loathes me. No matter what we have accomplished together, he still hates me. What makes you think that he will come into my defense?"

"Severus, Harry does not hate you. He respects you and values your contribution to –"

"Says who?"

Minerva glared at him.

"He did show me the vial, Severus –before he took it to Amelia's office. He would not have sealed it with his magical signature if he did not believe your innocence."

Severus snorted.

"The good that it did. Potter hates me. I hate him back. Let us keep at least that as a universal truth. My sanity depends on it." He sighed. "Very well, Headmistress, I shall take my leave. I have affairs to sort out before I hand myself over to the Dementors." He stood up to leave, but before he could get far, he was hit by a mild stinging hex from behind. The Potions Master turned to face a grim-faced Headmistress and a snickering faculty.

"Don't you dare throw away your life like that, Severus Snape! If anybody deserves a life after all of this, it is you!"

"Minerva –"

"Nonsense! You may not be one of my Lions, but I consider you as my son. I will not allow you to marry that Ogre –"

"Minerva," Severus found himself tearing up inside on that pronouncement coming from the formidable witch –not that he would ever admit it. "I thank you for your kind words. You and Albus are the few that I look up to –"

"Oh, my dear boy –" Severus then found himself being crushed into a tight hug. His stoic face betrayed his discomfort at the gesture, causing those at the summer staff table to burst into undignified giggles. Severus especially glared at Hagrid, but the half-giant seemed immune to his patented Death Glare #43 –the one he used to reduce a human colleague into a pulp.

"Minerva, I said I look up to you –but kindly remove yourself from my body immediately."

"Oh, will you just let an old woman have her way for once!" She smiled as she let her Deputy go. "We will get you through this,"

Severus stepped away from the sentimental witch.

"As I have said, Minerva, I appreciate your enthusiasm regarding the matter, but there is nothing we can do. Fudge controls the Ministry; that toad Umbridge has Wizengamot –"

"Ah, but that's where you're wrong, my boy." Minerva waved a finger at him. "She does not ultimately control Wizengamot –"

"She is the **Chief**, Headmistress."

"Chief –nothing but a presiding officer."

Severus frowned.

"Is this going anywhere, besides giving me false hopes?"

"I am not giving you false hopes, young man. True, there seems to be no other avenue to take out of this farce given the current set up of the Ministry, but –"

"But what?" Severus asked impatiently. "Are you telling me that Fudge is all of a sudden going to choke on Chocolate Frogs and die, and that toad Umbridge is going to spontaneously combust? Because **that** would be the only way for me to get a fair trial and sentence."

"Oh, nobody needs to die, Severus." Minerva admonished him. "Walk me to my office, will you?"

"I do not see how walking you to your office would help me I my current predicament, Minerva."

The Headmistress glared at him.

"No, it does not, per se. But surely a Potions Master such as yourself can appreciate the process it takes to come up with a successful brew."

Severus raised his eyebrows.

"Pray tell me then, at least, before I go about this long and winding procedure, of what end product I should expect."

Minerva gave him s smirk worthy of Salazar Slytherin.

"A place for everything, and everything in its place,"

"A Gryffindor, waxing philosophical?"

"Philosophical? Me? Dear no, Professor Snape." The Headmistress let out a girlish giggle. Severus frowned. There must be some correlation between the Headmastership and losing one's sanity; Albus with his damned twinkling eyes, and now, Minerva and her giggles. Good thing he did not last long in the position. He sighed as he faced the chuckling witch.

"At least tell me of your diabolical plan of doom before I commit myself to it –and at the mental ward at St. Mungo's."

Minerva ignored his half-hearted diatribe and smiled.

"What do you know of the High Lord of Wizengamot, Severus?"


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 Lessons in History and Politics**

A man with long, deep burgundy hair, tied at the nape and bright sapphire eyes threw the day's newspaper half-heartedly on the desk before him. He rubbed a spot on his forehead out of habit. He was dressed in robes of royal blue, with a crest of a bronze doe, an elder tree and an olive branch on a powder blue background, emblazoned on the left breast pocket. A pair of first-class dragonhide boots completed his ensemble. He let out a deep sigh. Across him sat a goblin dressed in crimson robes and spectacles. A golden amulet shaped like an ankh hang from his thin neck. He watched the human carefully with a concerned look on his weathered face.

"Is it that bad, my lord?"

The man pinched the bridge of his nose before eying the goblin.

"Just tired of the injustice of it all, Gareth. Just tired of the injustice."

Gareth, the goblin, sighed.

"The wizards have had their free reign for almost two centuries now, my lord."

"Yes, they have."

"Perhaps, it is time to reclaim your seat?"

The man turned to the goblin.

"You tell me, Gareth. I know nothing of politics, truly. The weeks you have spent tutoring me on my heritage left me with little desire for the power of the seat. I have only just succeeded escaping my horrendous fate. Must I throw myself into the fray yet again? My ancestors must have had a valid reason for refusing the office."

"They have," Gareth nodded. "But you also have an equally valid reason to reclaim it."

The man propped his elbows on the desk and placed his head in his hands.

"And that is?"

"The fate of the Wizarding World."

The man managed a small smile at that response.

"Definitely a Gryffindor –if you ever went to Hogwarts, that is." He jested. "A noble thought, Gareth, but I've already walked that line. I've done my part. A Gryffindorish sentiment no longer appeals to me."

It was Gareth's turn to smile.

"The fate then, of an innocent man –a man in debt to your House."

The man's blue eyes clouded in confusion.

"There is something you are not telling me, Gareth. I would wish to be enlightened as to what you speak of."

The goblin smirked as he handed him an ancient-looking scroll.

**0101010101010101010**

"The High Lord of Wizengamot? **That** is your brilliant plan?" Severus scoffed. "Minerva, the High Lord of Wizengamot is now but a legend! The Seat has not been claimed in about 200 years! Surely, that position overrides the Minister and the Wizengamot, but –we do not even know if there is still an heir left to claim the position! And given that there is, what makes you think that he would get off of hi arse and help me? That is the most preposterous idea I have ever heard!"

Minerva scowled at him.

"Of course you would say that. Ye of little faith, Severus Snape."

"Do you know for certain that the High Lord exists, Minerva?"

"Of course not,"

Severus ran his fingers through his greasy locks.

"Then, I rest my case –"

"Not so fast!" Minerva admonished him. "Contrary to popular belief, Albus is not the only one with connections."

Severus sighed.

"I'm not saying you don't Minerva. And it is not that I do not have confidence in you, but this plan of yours to save me has more holes than a slab of Swiss cheese! It is my bloody hide on the line here, so forgive me, if hunting for a legendary court official –slash- Wizarding royalty, whose existence has the probability of Potter, learning proper wizarding etiquette –fails to reassure me."

Minerva glared.

"And you have another idea that does not include blood, Dementors, or toads?"

"About a hundred. And I would have already gone through half of them if it weren't for you, detaining me with your delusions of grandeur."

"Oh, do shut up, Severus!" Minerva spat out. "Let me write a letter then you could go wallow in your misery if it doesn't work."

"It would not."

"And if it does?" Minerva challenged him. Severus sneered.

"Then I will wear pink robes for the rest of the term."

The Headmistress chuckled.

"Then I do hope that you have enough pink robes to last you for that long, my dear."

**0101010101010101010**

"YOU-HAVE –GOT –TO –BE –KIDDING –ME!"

The blue-eyed man exclaimed after reading the rolled up parchment Gareth handed him. His face was a picture of utter disbelief. He turned to the goblin.

"I am going to say this only once –my ancestor was a bloody –daft, foolhardy –Gryffindor."

Gareth smiled.

"If you trace your lineage far back enough, my lord, you will indeed encounter Godric Gryffindor."

The man glared at him.

"I can say the same for Salazar Slytherin, but that's beside the point." He sighed before banging his head on the desk almost comically. "I'm screwed, Gareth. Why must I get a deranged lunatic for an ancestor?"

"I cannot answer that, I'm afraid, my lord."

"'Course you can't." The man said dejectedly. "Is there really no other way to this? I mean, can I not just save him and leave it at that? The man does not even like me! And I'm pretty sure he is not even aware of this,"

"You would both lose your magic, my lord. The pact is clear on that account," Gareth supplied. "And besides, you do not exactly hate him, do you?"

The man took a deep breath before answering.

"No." He said determinedly. "But that's beside the point again, Gareth –"

"You must claim him then," the goblin stated matter-of-factly. "Protect him and claim him to fulfill the fact made between your ancestors."

"What if he refuses? And I **know** he will –"

"He cannot. If you think he is unyielding, then you must persevere my lord. The future of Magical Britain is at stake. Just imagine the chaos that would ensue if you lose your magic."

The man threw his hands up.

"I should've just died. Makes it bloody easier than living."

Gareth sighed and massaged his temples.

"I do hope you are jesting, my lord. A lot is at stake."

"Of course I am, Gareth. But one can hope, right?" the man rubbed his forehead again. "Why does everything happen to me? Do I have a 'kick me' sign taped on my back that I do not know of?"

"I cannot answer that, I'm afraid, my lord."

The man leaned back in his seat and eyed the scroll that he had just discarded.

"Bloody daft ancestors… bloody life debts…"

"How do you wish to proceed, my lord?" Gareth asked. The man closed his eyes briefly.

"Full steam ahead, my good goblin."

"And when shall we commence the takeover?"

But before the man could answer back, a large, tawny owl swooped down and landed on his desk. Blue eyes looked at the bird warily.

"No one knows of me, Gareth. That missive should be yours."

True enough, the owl held its leg out towards the goblin. Gareth relieved the owl of its burden and carefully guided towards the nearest window. When it was in flight once more, Gareth began to read the missive.

A few seconds later, the goblin was handing the parchment to the blue-eyed lord, his many sharp teeth showing in a wide grin. The wizard raised an eyebrow as he accepted the letter from the smiling Gareth. A minute later, he sighed rather loudly.

"Great. Just great. Another drop I the bucket I call 'unjust coercion'. As if all the howlers from my friends and family and this stupid pact weren't enough to convince me to return," He threw the missive on the table. "I'll never get a quiet life, won't I?"

"When shall we commence the take over my lord?"

"End of the month. It'll do for a nice celebration, don't you think?" the man muttered resignedly. "The intelligence sources you've recommended to me say that the Crow and the Toad are planning something on that day regarding our concern. What a better way to start my year than to overthrow the Ministry,"

"Excellent decision, my lord." Gareth then gestured towards the table. "What of this missive?"

The man cocked his head onto one side, thoughtfully.

"Send her an affirmative reply. But do not, under any circumstance tell her of my true identity."

"Of course, my lord. Shall I prepare your Court robes as well? I can have a goblin seamstress put on all your Family Crests –"

"No, just the main one would do. We wouldn't want them running away before we could even strike a pose now, would we?"

"A most Slytherin notion, my lord,"

"Thank you, Gareth," the man smiled. "I can't believe I am actually acknowledging that as a compliment, but I am."

The goblin smiled.

"When shall we notify the Court?"

"Hmm… two hours before, I think."

Gareth frowned.

"Not to disagree with you, my lord, but there are still two Lordships we need to reinstate. These have lost their current heads without a successor stipulated in their wills. One, of course, as you know is –"

"The House of Prince." The man breathed. "The other one?"

"The House of Prewitt."

The man furrowed his brows.

"Who is to inherit?"

"The eldest male heir, closest to the inheriting line –William Weasley."

The man's face brightened.

"Contact him exactly 24 hours prior the takeover, no more, no less. He is trusting of your kind, there should be no hassle."

"And the inheritor of the Princes –the Last Prince, what of him, sir?"

The man thought for a moment.

"He will take much more persuasion. We need to enlist the assistance of the Headmistress of Hogwarts –ask her to petrify him if needed be. Twenty-four hours as well, though."

Gareth gave him a wicked grin.

"I will see to it right away, my lord," he said with a bow.

**0101010101010101010**

It was about three in the afternoon when Minerva McGonagall had a most unusual visitor in her office, that is, aside from the dour Potions Master sitting from across her desk, sipping tea. Said Potions master's eyes widened upon seeing the unannounced guest.

"A –falcon?"

Minerva was eying the bird with a small smile on her lips.

"My, that was quick."

Severus looked at her, astonished.

"You –you mean to say –"

"From the House of the High Lord," The Headmistress affirmed, relieving the dignified bird of its burden. "or at least, his representative –judging by the seal on this envelope."

Severus scoffed as he eyed the bird, who seemed to be awaiting a reply.

"Show off."

Minerva let out a small chuckle as she opened the envelope.

"If my history serves me correctly, the House of the High Lord traditionally uses a screech owl. However, sometime in the 1800's a family friend gifted them with their first falcon and they have then become their choice of couriers eve since –ah, here we go –" she scanned the letter quickly. Severus remained looking skeptical.

"So, Headmistress, did you receive a letter of rejection? _'Thank you for your interest in our most esteemed High Lord of Wizengamot, but we regret to inform you that –oh, well, he does not actually exist?'_"

"He will be in touch!" Minerva exclaimed. Severus froze in the middle of his rant.

"I beg your pardon?" He snarled. The formidable witch shoved the parchment into the Potions Master's hands.

_**Headmistress Minerva McGonagall**_

_**HSWW, Scotland**_

_**July 25, 1998**_

_**Dear Headmistress:**_

_**Thank you for your inquiry regarding the High lord's welfare. He is as well as he can be. He has personally seen your missive and has seen merit to your request. He also agrees, and I quote that "it is about time that the Wizarding World got their priorities straightened out." He will be personally in touch with you and the Potions Master by not later than July 30th, through his personal falcon, Isolde. Further instructions will be provided then. In the mean time, your full discretion and confidentiality is much appreciated. Please send back a reply to confirm your receipt of this letter.**_

_**Sincerely,**_

_**Gareth Ironfist**_

_**Gringotts Bank, Inc.**_

_**Head Liaison to the High Lord of Wizengamot**_

Severus' eyes were wide like saucers. He turned to Minerva.

"He –he does exist!"

Minerva laughed at the normally stoic Potions Master's incredulous face.

"Shall I owl Madame Malkin for a bulk order on pink robes then, Severus?"

For once in his life, Severus Snape was rendered speechless.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3 Know Thyself**

_**Professor Severus Snape**_

_**HSWW, Scotland**_

_**July 26, 1998**_

_**Dear Professor Snape:**_

_**It is my personal regret to inform you that you will stand trial for your activities as a Death Eater. It will be held on the 31st of July 1998, at 14:00 hr. at the Ministry of Magic Courtroom 10. Presiding judges will be Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, and Dolores Jane Umbridge, Chief of Wizengamot.**_

_**Failure to appear shall mean automatic cessation of your right to defend yourself, and the Court shall assume your outright guilt.**_

_**Sincerely,**_

_**Rufus Scrimgeour**_

_**Deputy Minister**_

**0101010101010101010**

"Five days, Minerva! It has been five days! I stand trial tomorrow! Where is that bloody missive from the High Lord? No, scratch that, where in Merlin's pants is he? What kind of help is this?" Severus Snape threw the glass of scotch he was holding against the nearest wall where it shattered. It was just after breakfast and the pair were once more ensconced in the Headmistress' office.

"He gave his word, Severus. Have faith. And stop that incessant alcohol binge of yours! You need you sobriety once you face the Court of Wizengamot –"

"Screw them! Screw the –"

Just then, a familiar bird swooped in. But this time, it landed not on the Headmistress' desk, but on the left shoulder of one pissed-drunk Potions Master.

"Bloody falcon! What do you want?"

"Severus!" Minerva gasped. "Do not offend Isolde!"

The man sneered at her before turning to the falcon.

"It does not look offended to me,"

Isolde, the falcon, crowed, as she extended the leg carrying yet another sealed envelope. She stared at the drunken recipient with deep yellow eyes as she waited for him to take it. But Severus just stared right back.

"You know, I think I remember my grandfather having a bird like you –used it to send a letter to my mother, telling my mother she had been officially disowned –"

"Severus, the letter! I thought you wanted to hear from the High Lord, now, there it is! And for Circe's sake, stop talking to the bird. Here –" she handed him a small vial of purple liquid. "Do us all a favor and take this sobriety potion!"

Severus glared at her, which would have been at least effective if he wasn't going all cross-eyed from the effects of his early morning drinking stupor. When Minerva did not back down, the ineffective glare graduated into a scowl. He then grabbed the potion from her outstretched hand.

"You, woman, are absolutely no fun!" he snarled before grabbing the vial and downing its contents. Severus made a face.

"Disgusting concoction. When I am fully sober and not being threatened to marry a toad, remind me to make my potions taste better." When the effects fully settled in, the Potions Master turned to the falcon and retrieved the envelope. He stared at the yellowing piece of parchment like it was about to explode anytime soon. Minerva rolled her eyes.

"Well, open it! Let us see what the High Lord has to say,"

Severus glared at her, this time, rather effectively, but said nothing. With trembling hands, the ex-Death Eater carefully broke the wax seal on the back flap and slid the paper out of the envelope. The parchment was folded twice over and contained, on it, an unfamiliar crest of a black falcon, a silver sword, and a single winter rose on a forest green background –that, and two words:

_**Know thyself.**_

Severus frowned.

"Is this some kind of sick joke?" he spat out angrily. But before he could crumple the offending piece of paper, more words appeared after he had spoken:

_**No, Professor Snape. I assure you, it is not a joke.**_

Severus stiffened and almost dropped the parchment in surprise.

"Bloody –"

"Severus, what is it?" Minerva asked him upon seeing the astonished look on the Deputy Headmaster's face. The man pointed at the parchment with a stiff finger, before collapsing on the carpeted floor of the circular office. The formidable witch snatched the parchment from his hand. More words appeared:

_**Good day, Professor McGonagall. I am sure you are concerned over our dear Potions Master over there, but I assure you, I mean him no harm. He just needed to be out cold for us to be able to talk freely.**_

"Heavens," the Headmistress exclaimed. "A sentient parchment?" But before she could contemplate it further, words formed to answer her:

_**This is nothing like Tom Riddle's diary, Minerva. Just a parchment I merely charmed to activate with certain key words and phrases. The first line was activated by the words SICK JOKE, the second line, with BLOODY. This line you are reading now, with HEAVENS, and the next one – **_

"Merlin,"

_**With MERLIN. Before I go further, I would like to confirm that I have indeed received and read your letter. I am most inclined to help Professor Snape, I assure you. If there is one thing I detest, it is seeing an innocent man suffer at the hands of an incompetent judicial system. You must understand though, that knowledge of my existence would cause tremendous chaos should it be made public at the wrong moment. Therefore, your utmost secrecy is necessary. With that being said, I will need your compete trust as well in the avenue I will be pursuing to assist our dear professor. The letter you hold is a portkey –**_

"A what?" Minerva exclaimed. She almost dropped the letter, but more words appeared to reassure her.

_**-That would only work for Professor Snape. I plan to take him on a little trip. Worry not, I shall return him well before the appointed time for his trial tomorrow. I need you to trust me on this.**_

"Why –should I do that?"

The parchment provided a cryptic response.

_**I swear on my mother's sacrifice. I mean him no harm.**_

Minerva felt her chest tighten.

"Oh dear, but you –you –"

_**Yes I am. But he does not need to know that. Not yet. I believe that you now need to reennervate our dear Potions Master, Headmistress. We would not want him to get s stiff neck for lying on the floor for too long. After he is awake once more, I need you to hand him the parchment. Once it is in his hands, I need you to ask him his mother's maiden name and I will take care of the rest.**_

_**Sincerely,**_

_**HLP**_

The usually stern witch felt tears forming in her eye.

"Oh, thank Merlin," She then proceeded to commence her task. She gripped her oak wand and pointed it at the passed out man in her office.

"Ennervate!"

Severus stirred.

"What –what has happened, Headmistress?"

Minerva merely smiled and shoved the parchment into her Deputy's hands.

"Tell me, Severus, what is your mother's maiden name?"

"Huh?" The man's obsidian eyes clouded in confusion. "Why in Merlin's name are you asking me that right now?" He glanced at the paper in his hands. "And what is this –"

"Just answer the question, young man!"

"Good grief, woman, no need to scream like a banshee! Prince! My mother's name was Eileen Prince! But I don't –"

The rest of the confused wizard's words were snatched right out of his mouth by a familiar tugging sensation coming from his navel. And before Minerva could hear the expletive that was sure to come out of the Slytherin's mouth, he was gone.

**0101010101010101010**

Severus Snape prided himself in being ready for almost every situation thrown upon him; his Death Eater training assured him of that. So, there was almost nothing that caught him off-guard. Almost.

As soon as he felt the all too familiar sensation of a portkey travel, his instincts prodded him to grab his ebony wand and get ready to hex the first thing that he saw on the other end of his impromptu travel. Well, that was his intention.

ON the other end of the portkey, a man awaited the ex-spy's arrival with his own wand at the ready. So, even before Severus could mouth the first syllable of his 'Sectumsempra,' a warm jet of red light shot directly towards him upon his touchdown on solid ground. The last word he had heard before completely blacking out was 'Stupefy'.

**0101010101010101010**

Gareth was an educated goblin. He was no novice on wizard magic. He watched as his lord's guest crumpled on the floor of one of Gringotts' many hidden chambers after being hit by a stunner, issued directly from the said Wizarding Lord's wand. He sighed as he turned towards the blue-eyed wizard.

"Must you stun him that hard, my Lord?" To Gareth's surprise, the man smiled and winked at him.

"Not a way to treat a guest, I assure you, Gareth. But believe me, if I did not do so, you would be picking up bits and pieces of me lying around for days,"

Gareth shook his head with a small smile of his own.

"You know him better than I, my Lord. I concede to your wisdom. But next time, try not to hit him so hard. It would do no well for your image, or your agenda."

"Will do," the man grinned at him, then faced the unconscious form of the Potions Master. "Well, at least we will not have a hard time bringing him into the Lair. Professor McGonagall did well. The parchment portkey was an inspired idea, Gareth."

"Thank you my Lord. Shall I levitate the Professor now then, or will you prefer to do the honors?"

"Yes please. I still have to prepare my Occlumency shields. The man we will be dealing with is by no means a yielding soul. I will need all my artillery to break into his defenses.

Gareth gave his lord a wide grin.

"Would you like me to soften him up a bit, sir?"

The man raised an eyebrow.

"Hmm, that's not a bad idea." He reached into his royal blue robes and produced a small vial containing an amber colored liquid. "Put this in a bottle of the strongest scotch you can find. And oh, put a note right next to it too. I will be back."

**0101010101010101010**

The next time Severus opened his obsidian eyes, he was lying on a soft mattress, surrounded by white walls.

"It is most pleasing to see you awake, Lord Prince," a gruff, but polite voice said. Severus bolted right up from his position. He tried to grab his wand, but to his surprise, it wasn't anywhere on his person.

"I assure you, there would be no need for this,"

The Potions Master followed the voice until his eyes rested on a goblin standing by the foot of what turned out to be a four-poster bed that he was currently on. When their eyes met, the goblin broke into an easy smile. He gestured to his hand which held…

"My wand!" Severus made a move to grab it, but an invisible force pushed him back on the bed. He snarled at the goblin.

"What is this farce? What do you need of me?"

To his surprise, the goblin chuckled.

"The High Lord sends his apologies regarding the manner by which you were brought here –"

"Here? Where exactly is here? And who are you? The High Lord, you say? Where is he?"

"My name is Gareth. Where you are right now is called the Lair. It is neither here nor there. The High Lord asked me to see to your needs until he is ready to meet with you." Gareth waved his crinkled hand. A bottle of scotch appeared by the bedside table. Severus eyed it warily. The goblin smirked.

"Compliments of the House of Peverell, I hope it is to your liking." Gareth made a move to leave.

"Peverell?" Severus mused out loud, trying to place the name. "Wait!"

"Yes? Is there anything else, Lord Prince?"

If Severus noticed the formal address the goblin gave him, he made no move to correct it.

"I understand –I am in need of the High Lord's help and –but can I please have my wand back? I shall cause no trouble."

Gareth gave him a calculating look before tossing the wand back to its owner.

"The Lair is impervious to wizard magic. You may try, but you certainly cannot."

Severus sighed as he watched the goblin's retreating back.

'_Merlin, what have I gotten myself into?'_

**0101010101010101010**

Gareth closed the door behind him gently, not bothering to lock it.

"Is he awake now?" A shaky voice asked. Gareth smiled.

"Yes, my Lord."

"Has he taken the potion yet?"

"Not yet, my Lord. Give it a few more minutes. Lord Prince still seems to be much agitated by recent events."

"Very well," the man sighed, running his fingers through his burgundy locks out of habit. A pregnant pause ensued for about a minute or so. Gareth frowned slightly.

"You seem quite uneasy yourself, my Lord. Are you sure you are alright dealing with the Potions Master?"

The young lord gave him a timid smile.

"It feels like it is my first year Potions Class all over again, Gareth."

"Would you like tonic for your nerves, sir?"

The goblins suggestion was met by a nervous chuckle.

"Would you believe that I have already downed two full-strength doses of a Calming Draught?" The man then sighed. "I have faced dragons, trolls, vampires, werewolves… Why am I so afraid of a wizard?"

"Perhaps, you are afraid of rejection from this particular wizard, my Lord?" Gareth supplied helpfully. The man gave him a pensive look.

"Perhaps, Gareth… perhaps you are right." The man then faced the door behind the goblin, his sapphire eyes shining but apprehensive. He made a move to grab the ancient brass doorknob. But before proceeding, he turned to his right-hand goblin once more.

"How do I look, Gareth?"

The goblin smiled.

"Charming as always, Lord Peverell."

Lord Peverell smiled back.

"All thanks to you, my good goblin." Lord Peverell then proceeded to open the portal to the Lair and let himself in.


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4 High Lord Peverell**

After Gareth the goblin left, Severus found himself able to leave the confines of the four-poster bed. He pocketed his wand and decided to take a look around what the goblin called the Lair. The room was about a hundred square meters, with the walls done in off-white. The bed he was in was done in a similar shade with silk sheets. In fact, even the carpeting was a similar color, giving the area an almost ethereal effect –as if one was floating amongst the clouds. The only other hue present was mahogany –found in a pair of winged back armchairs and a low coffee table that stood in one corner of the room. It also matched the wood of the bed frame, as it did the side table Severus was now inspecting.

The bottle of scotch –a handsome crystal decanter –came in a silver tray, together with a wide, elegant shot glass –and a note. The Potions Master carefully picked up the parchment. It contained the same doe, elder tree and olive branch crest he recognized from the seal on the envelopes he had received from the High Lord. The note was short:

_**Greetings, Professor Snape, or shall I call you Lord Prince?**_

_**Please enjoy this fine bottle as part of my apologies.**_

_**Fear not, for I mean you no harm. The liquor is not poisoned. But then again, what Potions Master does not carry a bezoar on his person at all times?**_

_**-HLP**_

'_There is that address again,'_ Severus thought. _'Why are they calling him 'Lord Prince'?'_ He just decided to ask whoever later. Right now, he needed a break. He poured a good two fingers of the scotch into the glass and downed it in one go. The amber liquid burned pleasantly against his throat, giving off a warm, familiar sensation. For some reason, he trusted this High Lord not to poison him. But then again, he could not care any less. His mind was going around in circles –he needed the tonic. He poured another glass.

He was nursing his third shot when the door opened once more.

"I trust it is to your liking?" a pleasantly amused voice asked him. The Potions Master gently set his glass down and turned to face the voice.

His jaw almost dropped at what he saw.

There was no other way to put it.

Beautiful. The man was beautiful. Severus swung both ways, so to speak, so he could appreciate both feminine and masculine beauty. And this man was a fine specimen if he ever saw one.

'_No one should be this good-looking,'_ Severus told himself.

The man had long burgundy hair that reached his shoulders in loose waves, he had bright blue-green eyes that twinkled in the light, a delicate nose and full red lips. He was healthily tanned, a little shy of six feet and lithe. He was dressed in smart royal blue robes that were open from the waist down, revealing tight leather pants and dragon hide boots. The now-familiar crest was displayed on the buckle of his belt as well as the left breast pocket of his robes. On his left hand sat a gold ring adorned with sapphires and emeralds. There was no doubt as to who this man was.

"Lord Peverell," Severus intoned, politely bowing. Lord Peverell smiled at him and nodded.

"How do you do, Lord Prince?" Severus frowned.

"You must be mistaken, my Lord. I am a Potions Master Severus Snape –"

"Yes, yes, I'm quite young to be senile, don't you think?" Lord Peverell closed the door behind him and took a seat in one of the armchairs. He gave the Potions Master a pointed look.

"Well, take a seat, I don't bite, Professor. And nor should you worry. Between us two, you can best me in any given duel –magical or muggle." He winked. Severus felt a blush creeping up his cheeks. He took a deep breath before settling on the chair situated right across the enigmatic nobleman.

"You seem to know a lot about me –where were you all this time? How old are you again?" Severus found himself blurting out in rapid succession. Lord Peverell smiled.

"You would ask that, of course." When the Potions Master began to look uncomfortable, the young lord waved him off. "It is quite alright, Professor. "A curious mind must be satisfied at all times. Research, to answer your first question. Hiding in plain sight, for the second and third, technically, I am almost eighteen –"

"Technically?"

Lord Peverell nodded.

"Gareth might have already mentioned to you, but this place where we are at is called The Lair. It is a special time displacement room, activated by this –" he motioned to a golden amulet around his neck. "-One day outside is equivalent to one month in this room. I have spent seven regular weeks inside these chambers, 49 regular days – 49 months -a little over four years. Physically, I should be over twenty-two years old." The young lord let the information sink in with the Potions Master before proceeding.

"But why do we –"

"You asked for my help, Prof –"

"Severus, please,"

"Severus," Lord Peverell amended. "Call me Tristan."

"Tristan? Tristan Peverell?"

"Yes."

Severus raised one perfectly arched eyebrow.

"How fitting," he murmured. Tristan looked bemused.

"How so?"

The Potions Master grinned.

"Tristan… and… and your falcon is named Isolde."

Tristan's eyes brightened.

"I keep forgetting you are quite familiar with muggle literature, Severus." The young lord sighed. "yes, I was named to match my falcon."

Severus looked curious.

"Do you not mean she was named to match yours?"

Tristan shook his head.

"No, I was named as such because of her." He said cryptically. "But enough about that. We are here in the Lair because you have asked for my help, Severus. But aside from that, there are other things we need to discuss that would take time."

"Would that include explaining to me why you –and that goblin –address me as 'Lord Prince'?"

Tristan stared at him. Severus felt like he was being Legilimized, but the young man's gaze wasn't so much of a mental assault, but rather a physiological one. He held the young lord's gaze. After what felt like forever, Tristan relented. He then reached into his robes and pulled out a rolled up piece of parchment. He turned to Severus.

"What do you know of your mother's family?"

Severus seemed taken aback by the question, but he answered anyway.

"Not much. My grandfather Menaleus Prince was the last Lord Prince. He died without a direct heir. My mother was disowned for marrying a muggle before his death and was an only child. But surely, he had nephews or nieces –"

"No." Tristan shook his head. He then gave the rolled up parchment to Severus. The man stared at the parchment. It had a seal; this time though, it was the crest containing a falcon, a sword and a winter rose. He looked at Tristan.

"I –I don't understand. This –this is –"

"The Family Crest, of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Prince."

"But –"

"Read it."

With a sigh, Severus unfurled the scroll and began to read:

_**THE LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT OF LORD MENALEUS PRINCE, HED OF THE MOST ANCIENT AND NOBLE HOUSE OF PRINCE**_

Severus raised a skeptical eyebrow at Tristan. The young lord merely nodded. Severus trained his eyes back to the parchment.

_I, Menaleus Severin Prince, of sound mind and body, hereby attest to the following:_

_That, should I have been preceded by my wife or any legitimate heir, the monies and titles attached to this House shall revert to the Court of Wizengamot –_

Severus turned to Tristan once more.

"I don't see why this concerns me."

Tristan rubbed a spot on his forehead absent-mindedly.

"No? Well, read on then."

Severus shrugged and turned his attention back to his late grandfather's will.

_-To be decided upon by the High Lord or his equivalent. This also applies to any pact or contract entered into by our ancestors on their own free will…_

Severus sighed before discarding the parchment.

"You are giving me the Lordship." He stated matter-of-factly. Tristan leaned back in his seat.

"Yes."

Severus's frown deepened.

"Why?"

"You want a way out of Umbridge's and Fudge's manipulations, right? I'm giving you one. A head of an Ancient and Noble House is immune to criminal trial –and most especially, unjust coercion by Ministry bigots."

"But that's not all of it, am I right?" Severus asked/ "You're the High Lord. You can just order them to free me or something. Why reinstate the House of Prince and give me the seat?"

Tristan closed his eyes briefly. He then took a deep breath before opening his eyes once more.

"I'm planning a take-over. And I prefer to have all of my court present and able. There is much to be done after the demise of Voldemort –"

"You say his name?" Severus asked, astonished. Tristan grinned at him.

"I can say Tom Riddle, if you prefer that. But I refuse to call a dead man You-Know-Who or Dark Lord." He glanced at the ex-Death Eater's unblemished left arm, exposed by his partially rolled-up sleeves. "And so should you."

Severus actually smiled a little after that.

"I actually prefer Moldyshorts."

Tristan looked amused.

"Pray tell, who was responsible for coming up with that silly moniker," Severus snorted.

"Harry Bloody Potter."

Tristan's lips curled into a small smile.

"Ah, but of course, Harry Potter… the bane of your existence, if I were to believe the papers?"

"He and I –I would like to think that we have reached a common ground so to speak. After all, I have spent years training the brat."

"When did you stop hating him?" Tristan asked, looking quite curious. Severus thought that the question was personal and he had wanted to tell Tristan that; but for some reason, he found himself staring into that pair of blue-green eyes and answering.

"In his fifth year. I realized that he was more like me than he was his father or godfather."

"I see," the young lord nodded but pushed for no further explanation. "I heard he is missing. Does anyone have any idea where he is? His friends?"

"NO. If there is one thing I could give Potter credit for, it is ability to fade into the shadows. His friends and admirers worry for him, but that's all they do."

Tristan bit his lip lightly.

"How about you Severus, do you worry for him? After all, he was once your charge,"

Severus knew the answer to the question in his mind. But there was no way he would be admitting it. Not even in front of the High Lord of Wizengamot. He opened his mouth to say 'no' but what came out was something else.

"He is a foolhardy Gryffindor. He does not think before he acts. For all I know, he is right now in the middle of another hare-brained idea that will endanger him. I wish he weren't so reckless." Severus bit his lips. _'What the heck? Why did I just say that?'_ He looked at his host. Tristan's face was calm and passive, but he had a strange glint in his eyes. Severus frowned.

"There was something in the scotch, wasn't there?"

Tristan smiled.

"I tell you no lie that there was nothing harmful in the liquor."

"You said there was no poison! But you did not say it was not laced with anything." Severus mused out loud. "But it wasn't Veritaserum, I would have noticed it – what did you put in the scotch?"

Tristan sighed. He stood up to grab the bottle and took a swig of the liquor. He turned to the skeptical Potions Master.

"Nothing, see?"

"I don't believe you," Severus huffed. "What is your full name?"

Tristan looked uncomfortable for a moment.

"Harry James Potter."

Severus raised an eyebrow before sighing.

"Fine, I believe you. There is no truth serum in the scotch?"

"No." Tristan answered truthfully. It wasn't a truth serum, but an obscure goblin made mixture of a calming and a coercion draught6, perfectly masked in the scotch. But Severus need not know that. He also need not know that the potion afforded the drinker to be in a comfortable state of mind, relaxed enough to feel at ease in speaking about his or her innermost thoughts and feelings. He turned to Severus once more.

"So, will you accept the Lordship?"

Severus let out a deep breath.

"There is something you are keeping from me. I would prefer to know what it is, but, you seem to be in a better bargaining position than I –and if you refuse to tell me now, there is nothing I can do about it. So, I might as well, accept your help, cross my fingers and hope for the best. Did I get it right, Lord Peverell?"

Tristan smirked.

"Perfectly, Professor." Severus smirked back.

"A devious notion, if I weren't on the receiving end, I'd commend you."

Tristan's grin widened.

"I have been told I'd make a good Slytherin, sir."


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5 Training and Discovering**

"A Slytherin indeed," Severus intoned. "Where did you say you attended school? Obviously you are not an alumnus of Hogwarts."

Tristan turned his back on him to replace the decanter of scotch on the side table.

"I –was homeschooled. My existence had to be kept a secret as you can already grasp fairly –especially with the ongoing war back then."

"I see," Severus raised an eyebrow. It made sense but something was telling him that it was not the whole truth. "So, what do we do next? I assume that your Slytherin mind has the next steps planned out?"

Tristan faced him once more.

"But of course," he smirked. "You're undergoing training, Severus."

"Training?"

"Wizarding Lord Etiquette Training,"

**0101010101010101010**

Gareth made another appearance –it was to modify the Lair into a two-bedroom apartment with a shared bathroom, a large living space, kitchen, dining hall and a library.

"I thought magic would not work in this room." Severus wondered out loud. Tristan corrected him.

"Wizard magic won't. Goblin magic would."

"Indeed,"

Gareth turned to the Potions Master.

"Potions-Making is still possible, though. Just not those that require foolish wand-waving," The goblin said with a toothy grin. Severus blinked, his eyes wide in surprise at the goblin's choice of words. Tristan on the other hand, smirked.

"Now, now, Gareth, we are not here to indulge the Professor. We are here to whip him up into shape –just like how you did with me."

"You said you trained here for four years –isn't that too long?" Severus inquired of the young lord.

"Wizarding Etiquette was not all I did, I studied at bit of Goblin magic too." Tristan explained. "I also studied for my Masteries in Defense Theory, Wizarding Law and Potions –"

"Potions, you say?" Severus clarified, looking impressed. For a young man, Tristan Peverell did sound quite accomplished. Tristan noticed the look on the Professor's face and shrugged.

"Don't be too impressed. It took me two years to fully grasp the idea. I can safely say that I am nowhere near your caliber." He said sheepishly. "For you, one month is about enough. We just need a bit of polishing. But worry not, if ever we need more time, Gareth can always supply us with a time-turner."

"Would Gareth be the one training me?" Severus asked. Tristan turned a bit pink.

"Erm –no. I was hoping you would consent to having me as your tutor. I know I am markedly younger than you, but –well, Gareth has other things to see to."

"You?" Severus raised an eyebrow. Tristan gulped, almost inaudibly.

"Yeah, but if you are averse to that idea, it's okay. I can just find ano –"

"I'd be honored, Lord Peverell." Severus cut him off in mid-babble with a deep bow to boot.

" –ther. What? Oh, wow, that's great." Tristan looked surprised to say the very least. Severus grinned inwardly at the sight of the normally regal young lord's flustered look.

'_He looks quite adorable when he's vulnerable like that. But I wonder what makes him insecure? I know inside that he's still a young man –no matter how dignified he projects himself –forced to grow up by circumstances; a reluctant young man with the weight of the world on his juvenile shoulders… he's almost like –'_ Severus shook his head mentally. _'What am I saying? Am I really comparing the enigmatic Tristan Peverell to that Potter brat? Hmph. Potter would just laugh at me if I come to him seeking refuge from the toad lady.'_ Severus turned his attention back to the young lad who was mouthing off something trivial that he could not hear in his mind. _'Okay, they have a few similarities, I'd give him that, but that's just it… not many young men blush under my glare, most go pale… but then again, when did Potter ever become like most people? And I can say the same for Lord Tristan Peverell. Hmm… I should stop talking to myself and just keep my eyes open. This deal with young lord Peverell is too good to be true. I'll figure out the catch –even if it is the last thing that I do.'_

"Severus? I was asking if you were hungry. I can ask the house elf, Dinky to get us supper. We can start with the lessons tomorrow after breakfast which would be at 7."

"That is amenable. What will you be teaching me?"

Tristan flushed yet again at the mention of the lessons.

"Basic Structure of the House of Lords, History, Wizarding Law 101, Estate Management, Noble Customs, Etiquette –among many others. Basically, I will just be passing on to you the knowledge that Gareth bequeathed unto me," he said, almost embarrassed.

**0101010101010101010**

"Why do they never teach this in History of Magic classes?" Severus asked irritably the following morning. He and Tristan were going over the History of the formation of Wizengamot right after breakfast the next day. "Binns should be exorcised."

"I wonder why they let a ghost teach an already boring subject, if not to see if the students would also die of boredom," Tristan mused. Severus huffed.

"That would be my first order of business as Deputy when I get back. Even the recently graduated Hermione Granger would be better to teach than that old loony specter."

"Indeed," Tristan grinned. "Now, Severus, who was the first to hold the High Lordship of Wizengamot?"

"Mergene the Magnanimous in 837 c.e."

"The last?"

"Nile Peverell in 1811," Severus answered automatically. "He relinquished the seat in favor of the ruling body. As to why, it does not say in this book you gave me." He turned to Tristan. "He's your ancestor, **why** did he vacate the seat?"

"Because **he** was a bloody **fool**," Tristan muttered under his breath. "Too much pressure, I guess," he told Severus. "Let's cross over to the basic structure of the Wizengamot. Which were the 5 original Ancient Houses that comprised the inaugural court?"

"The Houses of Peverell, Prince, Gryffindor, Slytherin and Black. IN 934 c.e., the Houses of Peverell and Gryffindor merged. IN 1016, the House of Slytherin reverted to the House of Gaunt, which was the bloodline that birthed Salazar Slytherin's mother."

"Correct. What are currently the 12 seats that hold power in the Wizengamot?"

"The Houses of Bones, Davies, Longbottom, Greengrass, Malfoy, Black, Prince, Prewitt, Abbot, Parkinson, Boot and Peverell –with all of the Houses compounded under each of them."

"Correct. How many voters does a seat hold?"

"It depends. If a seat is compounded, the number of votes correspond to the number of houses combined. If it is an originating seat, it automatically gets three votes on top of its compounded ort merged Houses. IN the case of an emerging seat, it gets one vote."

"Well, how many votes does the House of Prince get then?"

"Six. Three as an originating seat. Three more corresponding to three merged Houses: Prince, Ravenclaw –which was compounded in 1024 c.e. and Cresswell -which was acquired by right of conquest in 1753 c.e."

"Who was the first Chief of Wizengamot and how did he come into power?"

"Euphrates Prince in 1820" The ruling body generally met without a presiding officer since Nile Peverell vacated the High Lordship in 1811. But when Euphrates Prince succeeded his father Morpheus, he pushed for the need to have and arbiter and a facilitator. He was voted by a majority of the 11 Houses."

"Who was the only dissenting vote?"

"Himself," Severus snorted. "Bloody fool." Tristan laughed.

"It seemed that our ancestors shared a common dislike for power."

"That, and they are both bloody fools."

"True," Tristan agreed. He then glanced at the charmed clock in the living area where they were at. "We are progressing nicely. It isn't lunch for about an hour but I think we can take a break and resume the lessons at around 3, sounds good?"

"I could use some tea, " Severus said.

"Alright, we'll cover Basic Estate management later."

**0101010101010101010**

Severus found himself wandering inside the library. Tristan excused himself, saying that he needed a nap. But Severus wasn't in the very least sleepy. This was all too engaging for him. One day, he was an unwilling pawn in a war, the next day he was doomed to marry a toad, and the following day, he was on his way to becoming a proper nobleman. If his mother could see him now, he knew that she would be proud of him. He was learning a lot about his heritage, all thanks to one Tristan Peverell. And although he is still wary of the High Lord's true motives, he can't help but be grateful for the chance the young man has given him. Severus sighed as he perused the shelves, looking for an interesting read. He chanced upon a dusty-looking tome, bound in green silk with silver fastenings. The Potions Master felt inexplicably and immediately drawn to it. With care, he pulled it off the shelf. Gold peeling letters on the cover announced it to have belonged to:

_**Nile Ignatius Peverell**_

_**1785 -1811**_

_**(High Lord of Wizengamot)**_

_**1803-1811**_

Severus gently turned the cover page and gasped.

He had just discovered Nile Peverell's diary.

He began to read.


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6 Estates and Entries**

_**September 3, 1810**_

_It has been raining cats and dogs for weeks now. I wonder if I will ever see the sun again. It is father's 15th death anniversary in two days. Callista beckons me to accompany her to a ball on the same day. She annoys me. I would much rather stay at home. I do not care if she is my intended. I care not for her._

_I wish the rain would let up soon._

_**September 4, 1810**_

_The weather is still unforgiving._

_I met a man today. Well, I did not precisely __meet__ him. He was unconscious. He had been attacked by a cursed wild boar in the Forest of Glen. OH how pale he looked when I had found him in that rocky clearing! It has been a while since I healed somebody, but I guess I did well. He now sleeps in the guest chambers next to my own room. I am sitting by his bedside, writing this entry. He is currently in a healing coma as he had been significantly drained of magic. His face looks peaceful now as compared to how it was when I found him._

_I wish he was not so pale though. He would be quite handsome if he had a bit more color in his cheeks…_

**0101010101010101010**

Severus closed the journal.

It seemed that Tristan's ancestor was a healer. He wondered if Tristan knew. The Potions Master placed the bound tome back in its place. He knew it was wrong to read somebody's diary, but for some reason, he felt drawn to this particular one, somehow. He sighed. He decided to get back to it later when he had more time.

"Severus? Are you in there? It's time for your afternoon lessons,"

Severus stole one last glance at the spot where he returned the journal before stepping outside to see Tristan.

**0101010101010101010**

Severus found his tutor sitting at one side of the dining room table, pouring over some ancient-looking scrolls. The blue-eyed man looked up and smiled when he saw the Potions Master.

"Severus, take a seat and have yourself a ledger,"

Severus frowned as he took a seat from across the young lord.

"A ledger? What for?"

Tristan smirked.

"Why, for the properties of the Princes of course,"

The man's onyx eyes widened. Tristan chuckled at his astonished look.

"What did you expect? Your House is one of the Most Ancient and Noble Houses –"

"Yes, but –"

"This," Tristan gestured at the rolls upon rolls of parchment on the table. " –is yours. I had Gareth locate the Prince's main vault. The key to that will be presented to you at the formal rights of your lordship. But these ledgers, we've managed to acquire beforehand to assist us in your lessons."

Severus scanned a piece of parchment in his hand before turning to Tristan.

"I still do not see why you are doing this. You gave me the Lordship –you could have stopped at that. But –why give me these?"

Tristan sighed then looked Severus in the eye.

"These belong to you. It is only right that you get them –"

"But my grandfather's will –"

" I am acquiescing to his wishes. I am doing what I want to do with the Prince Heritage. I am returning it to its rightful heir –"

"But why?"

"You deserve it,"

Severus raised an eyebrow.

"You always speak like you know me well."

I told you, research –"

"I do not fully believe you."

Tristan shrugged.

"Then don't. You do not need to believe to be able to trust. And for me to be able to help you, all I need is your trust, Severus, nothing more. You already trust me enough to tutor you. Then extend that trust further when I say that you deserve this." Tristan reached across the table and grabbed the stoic Potions Master's hands. Severus glanced at their clasped appendages before looking into Tristan Peverell's eyes deeply. For a moment, it seemed like they were having a staring match; but after a beat, Tristan smiled and Severus looked away, removing his hands from the young lord's grasp. The blue-eyed, auburn-haired man was first to break the silence.

"So, did you see anything of importance?"

Severus looked mortified.

"No –I –how did you know?"

"A Master Occlumens taught me once," Tristan said. "Or at least, attempted to. But I was able to further my study of mind magics inside the Lair. Your approach was subtle – a mark of a talented Legillimens- but I was still able to sense it."

"Indeed," Severus breathed, looking a bit disconcerted. "Forgive my intrusion, I was merely –"

"Looking for answers?" Tristan supplied helpfully. "My true motives? I assure you Severus, you will not find it in my mind." He added cryptically. "If you would learn to trust, then don't look for answers in your head. The mind is by nature, doubting."

Severus let out a frustrated sigh.

"Why would you not tell me everything? You ask me to trust you and yet you withhold from me the whole truth."

Tristan closed his eyes and rubbed a spot on his forehead.

"I assure you, it is only necessary." He looked at Severus thoughtfully. "The truth is a double-edged sword."

The Potions Master held the young lord's gaze.

"And trust is earned, not given."

Tristan sighed.

"What would you like to know?"

"Would you answer me truthfully?" Severus challenged him.

"If it would clear the air around us –and allow us to proceed to reach our common goal, then my answer is yes."

The onyx-eyed man furrowed his brows but did not comment on the young Lord's conditions.

"Would you consent to Veritaserum?"

Tristan stared at him.

"No. I am afraid that there are horrors in my past that even a learned, experienced man like yourself need not see. I am also privy to secrets that should see the light would endanger many innocent lives."

"But –"

The young lord shook his head.

"I will agree, however, to a Coercion Spell –to tell the truth, nothing more. I will provide you the truth you seek –and you will receive your first lesson in trust."

"A coercion spell?"

"Gareth can assist us."

Severus looked thoughtful for a moment.

"No –no need. I trust that you will answer me truthfully –to the best of your abilities."

Tristan nodded and leaned back in his seat. Severus did the same, but he crossed his legs and arms across his chest.

"Why are you helping me?"

"Because you asked me to. Because I can. Because I want to."

"You want to?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Tristan hesitated for a moment before leaning forward against the parchment-riddled table with his arms outstretched along the length of it. His palms were faced up. Severus noticed this gesture of openness and vulnerability. When Tristan seemed to not want to speak, the Potions Master asked him again.

"Why?"

After a few seconds, Tristan stood up from his position, his eyes never leaving Severus'

"Because I care."

**0101010101010101010**

_**September 18, 1810**_

_After a fortnight, I finally see his eyes. I immediately lost myself in those fathomless orbs of obsidian –and his voice, oh, how melodious! It caressed my ears –like velvet on my skin –the moment he finally told me his name._

_Euphrates Prince…_

Severus snapped the journal shut.

After his confrontation with Tristan, he was unable to think straight anymore.

"_**Because I care,"**_

Truth was indeed a double-edged sword.

He certainly did not expect that answer.

The Potions Master stood still for about a minute, frozen, before walking away from the young lord. Severus had wanted to know more, he wanted an explanation…

He most certainly did not expect Tristan Peverell to say that.

"_**Because I care,"**_

Those three words could mean a multitude of things, but Severus knew exactly in which context it was to be taken… He had seen it in those brilliant bluish-green eyes.

He cares.

Tristan Peverell cared.

'_He cares for me,'_ Severus thought. Not many people cared for him. And most certainly far less cared for him in **that** way.

But Severus could not dismiss it at all. At that particular moment, he **knew** that the young lord was telling him the **truth.**

He needed time to process things –right after the war, his mind had never been the same, post-traumatic stress disorder and some complications, the medi-wizard at St. Mungo's said –on why a strange, mysterious, young nobleman such as Tristan Peverell cared about him in manner that was foreign to him until then. He knew he needed more answers, but he wasn't sure if he could handle any more of the truth.

Maybe Tristan was right. Maybe Severus should just learn to take his word for it.

The Potions Master walked away from the dining table and sought refuge in the library where he decided to immerse himself again in the mindless reading of Nile Peverell's diary.

Nile Peverell was gay, he found out, if the flowery accolades about the young man he had rescued were to be of any indication –he definitely preferred the same sex. And he certainly most despised Callista Reinhart, the American witch his mother chose for him (he adored his mother but they always argued on Callista; his elder sister Anastasia however, took his side on this –she too hated the American witch whom she thought was too liberated). He was a reluctant politician; he detested fame and power. He'd rather much be a plain old healer rather than the highest political head of Wizarding Britain. He was a young man who held the weight of the world on his shoulders… too many expectations… too much pressure. It was a wonder that he was yet to break down.

As Severus continued to read Nile's daily ramblings, he noticed that the young lord rarely wrote of himself. He would focus more on those around him and his journal was filled with many insightful observations of places, things and people…

People like the young man he had recently rescued.

Based on his entries, Nile would sit by the young man's bed side almost every night as he wrote in his personal journal. It seemed that the mysterious stranger caught the young lord's fancy. Nile Peverell's diary entries would sometimes just be entirely about the man that lay unconscious in his guest chambers –his face, his breathing, his hands –and the fervent desire to see his eyes and know his name. Fr two weeks, the journal served as an ode to the unknown man… Unknown until the entry on September 18, 1810.

The man Nile rescued was Euphrates Prince.

**The** Euphrates Prince.

Severus' ancestor.

Now the journal held much more sense to him than before.

Severus reverently placed the diary back in its nook and headed discreetly for his rooms. It was already past dinner, and as he expected, Tristan did not show up to bother him. And he appreciated that. He needed the space and time away from the man who all of a sudden turned his world upside-down.

Maybe the young lord **did** know him that well.

**0101010101010101010**

"I don't think I could do this anymore, Gareth,"

"My Lord, I –"

"No, you don't understand." Tristan ran his fingers through his hair angrily. "I **cannot** lie to him! How do I get him to trust me if I can't be truthful to him! I may be going about this the wrong way. I might end up saving his arse but that does not mean that he will not feel betrayed once he finds out –and I'm actually surprised that he hasn't figured it out yet -but knowing him, he will! And he will hate my guts for it! And where will that leave me? Back to square one! Back to square one, Gareth! And I am supposed to be getting him to trust me!

The goblin sighed deeply.

"Perhaps if you come clean –"

"He will pulverize me and curse my ashes into oblivion even before I could get one word out." The young lord said, evidently frustrated about his current predicament. "Again, I ask, why does everything happen to me?"

"Maybe it is time to change tactics, Lord Peverell,"

Tristan looked at him imploringly. Gareth smiled at him.

'You wanted Lord Prince to trust you and yet you appeal to his mind alone. Trust is not an intellectual quantity that can be measured, unlike knowledge –"

The young lord's eyes widened.

"You –you want me to appeal to his feelings?"

Gareth nodded knowingly.

"You- you want me to make him **like** me?"

"An open heart is more willing to trust, Lord Peverell."

Tristan looked at his adviser incredulously.

"And here I was, thinking, that you, were the voice of reason."

The goblin laughed.


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7 Waltz and Walls**

Tristan entered the dining area at half-past six, rubbing his eyes.

"Good morning," a deep baritone greeted him. The young lord's eyes shot up.

"Severus? What are you doing up so early?"

The Potions Master took a sip of the tea that was served on the table before answering.

"Seeing that my incessant questioning yesterday had caused a delay in our schedule, I was hoping to make up for it." He eyed the young lord's attire of a plain white round-necked shirt and a pair of emerald green silk pajamas that rode low on his hips and made his eyes look even more green than blue. "Are we having lessons on bedroom etiquette today?"

Tristan slumped down in his seat, apparently still too sleepy to catch the Potions Master's innuendo/ He grabbed his own cup of tea and drank it black. A few sips later…

"WHAT?" Tristan spat out about half of the tea he had in his mouth. He glanced at his outfit then at Severus. The older wizard smiled.

"Isn't your reaction a bit delayed?"

Tristan blushed.

"I was asleep. And not everyone dresses as impeccably as you do in the morning." He took another sip of tea. "And why must you dress in black all the time? I swear I had some colored robes sent in for you."

"Black is a practical color if you must know,"

"For potions probably, but as a noble lord, you need to wear **other** colors. Would wearing red hurt much?"

Severus gave him a glare enough to pry the skin off of his body. Tristan sighed.

"Fine. No red then. But I need you to change into those green dress robes I got for you."

"What on earth would you need me to be in dress robes for?" Severus asked.

"Why, your next lesson of course!"

The Potions Master looked skeptical.

"Lessons? Pray tell, what lesson would require such an uncomfortable apparel,"

Tristan smirked, his blue-green eyes shining."

"Dancing, of course."

**0101010101010101010**

"No, no –you have to add an extra spring to your last step, Severus! Look here, step-close-step. Step-close –step –"

"I still fail to see the point in bouncing. Face it, I was born with two left feet." The Potions Master sighed. He had been watching and copying Tristan's moves alongside the man for about a couple of hours now. "I look like a marionette when I attempt to dance."

"Nonsense," Tristan admonished him. "You're doing well for a beginner. And if you look like a marionette –Gareth tells me I looked like a wooden toy soldier when I first attempted to dance –"

"Like the nutcracker, perchance?" Severus asked.

"Yep."

The older wizard burst out laughing.

"How fitting."

Tristan blushed and smiled demurely.

"It is good to see you laugh. You should do so more often. It suits you."

It was Severus' moment to turn red.

"Very well –I still do not see the point in learning how to waltz." Tristan gave him an 'are-you-kidding-me?' look.

"Every wizarding lord has to know how to dance. And not just dance, but lead one. ON the day of your lordship, you are expected to open a ball with a traditional waltz –"

"You mean I **have** to dance?"

"Yes."

"In front of people?"

"Yes,"

"That is utterly absurd. I bet you did not have to do that."

Tristan sighed.

"Well, my existence was not exactly public knowledge, so no. Look, it's tradition. Now you can be difficult and prolong your agony or –" Tristan looked pensive for a while. "Perhaps, if I lead you, you will get a better grasp of it."

"Lead?" Severus asked curiously. Tristan nodded.

"When I was learning how to waltz, Gareth would provide me with shadow dummies since I was too tall to partner him. But we're about the same height –I can lead you."

"How exactly do we go about it then?"

Tristan smiled at him.

"Face me."

Severus sighed before taking a step closer towards his tutor. Their eyes were almost leveled, he found out, but he still seem to top the young lord by about a good 4 inches.

"Now rest your left hand lightly on my shoulder."

Severus found himself following the commands of Tristan's soft voice.

"Good. Now technically, the man leads. However in our case, we defer to having the more experienced partner leading the dance."

"Experienced?" Severus raised an eyebrow. Tristan's blush deepened.

"Konwledgeable –in dancing,"

"Ah, I see," Severus breathed. "By all means, lead the way then, Lord Peverell,"

Tristan breathed what appeared to be a sigh of relief.

"Right," The young lord then proceeded to grab the Potions Master's right hand. Severus smirked.

"You're shaking, Lord Peverell. Are you sure you are quite up to this?"

"No, I'm not –shaking, that is," Tristan insisted. He then placed his remaining hand around Severus' waist.

"Be gentle with me, Tristan," Severus muttered quietly, his voice smooth and low –almost like a purr. "I'm rather ticklish,"

Tristan's eyes widened. Severus laughed softly upon seeing this.

"That –was a joke, my lord. I would much rather prefer a **firm** hand –"

"What?" Tristan blurted out, evidently uncomfortable.

"On my waist, Lord Peverell –your hand on my waist. Circe, if you must touch my body, do it properly. I am not piece of fine bone china."

"Oh –of course," Tristan recovered himself with a sigh. "Well, let us begin."

With a click of the young lord's heels, music began to pipe in. And this time, to Severus' amusement, it was indeed the famed waltz from the ballet The Nutcracker. He turned his attention to Tristan. The young Lord was moving across the makeshift ballroom gracefully. He was a fine dancer, but as a lead –the young still had a long way to go. Severus sighed to himself and decided a different approach. He all of a sudden grabbed the hand that was on his waist and placed it firmly on his shoulder. Tristan froze in the middle of his steps and looked at Severus imploringly. The older wizard merely smirked as he replaced his hand around Tristan's waist and began to steer.

Severus Snape was far from being a novice dancer, Tristan thought after their roles were reversed as they glided across the dance floor fluidly. The man's hand on his waist was gentle but firm, and his steps were a little less graceful, but determined. Tristan found himself melting into the Potions Master's ministrations and right then and there he decided that Severus was a better and much more suitable lead than he. They finished the waltz in that position, the blue-green eyes never leaving the obsidian ones until the final bars of the melody echoed from across the room. However when it finally did, the spell broke and Tristan pulled away from the older wizard's grasp, his eyes suddenly ablaze.

"You lied to me, You said you did not know how to dance!"

The Potions Master glared at the young lord.

"I resent that, I never claimed such a thing. I merely implied that I was not good at it, hence, the term having 'two left feet'."

"But –but you can lead!"

"Yes I can." Severus folded his arms across his chest. "One does not need to be an excellent dancer to be able to dominate, Lord Peverell. I merely sensed your reluctance to do so and decided to take the lead. Experience does not always prevail. Sometimes persistence triumphs over knowledge."

Tristan looked like he was about to say something but, changed his mind. He glanced at the clock before shifting his eyes back to Severus.

"Then forgive my earlier pronouncement of calling you pretentious, Lord Prince. That was very improper of me." The young man then sighed. "If I'm not mistaken, lunch will be served soon. Excuse me,"

**0101010101010101010**

Severus did not see Tristan during lunch –he sort of already expected that. He knew that he might have offended the young lord's sensibilities by usurping his dominance. He was almost prepared to launch into his prepared speech of apology –but when the clock struck three and his tutor was still nowhere to be found, he began to fidget. He decided to call for the house elf.

"Dinky?"

"Yes Master Severus?"

"Have you seen Tristan?"

"He left sir, right before lunch, sir,"

"Left?" Severus blurted out. "Did he say where he was going or when he will be back?"

The house elf shook her head slowly.

"I see, thank you Dinky." Severus dismissed the elf. Okay, so he would not be seeing Tristan anytime soon. The Potions Master sighed. He just hoped that his young tutor was okay and that when he got back, he would talk to Severus and sort things out.

**0101010101010101010**

**September 20, 1810**

_**Another day at the Wizengamot. Every day I find it harder and harder to justify my decision to take up the mantle of the Lordship. Anastasia would be better suited for this –if only she kept her surname when she married Siegfried.**_

_**Still, I find myself looking forward to waking up every day now more than ever –just so I could go to the Ministry, go about my day as usual, and finally come home.**_

_**Home.**_

_**Where Euphrates awaits.**_

_**I know, it is a lot of wishful thinking on my part that he should wait for me, but in a manner, he actually is. It has only been two days since he had been conscious –three weeks in my care, but those fleeting moments we share, conversing on the most mundane of topics, only add to the feeling of fond familiarity I have for him.**_

_**I wish for the nights to never end, now that I have someone to share them with…**_

**0101010101010101010**

Severus closed the journal and laid it on his bedside table. After Tristan disappeared without notice, he had taken the journal from its resting nook in the library and smuggled it inside his room. He had been reading the diary for hours now. If he had any walls of doubt as to what Nile Peverell was feeling for his ancestor the last time he had read his diary entry of two days ago, September 20, 1810's page knocked those down for him.

Nile Peverell had fallen for Euphrates Prince. Hard.

Severus wished that he had an idea of how Nile looked like; from his entries, Euphrates looked quite like Severus himself. Did Nile look anything like Tristan? If he did, then Euphrates Prince would not have a hard time falling for the High Lord in return. Euphrates Prince had been a Potions Apprentice to his father, at the time Nile met him and had become a full-pledged Master in the year that followed. It seemed that the Princes were destined to be Potions Masters.

In the immediate entries that followed, it was clear as to how smitten Nile had been of Severus' ancestor. The Potions Master frowned. If Nile Peverell was anything like Tristan and if Euphrates Prince was Severus' doppelganger, would it really be possible for Tristan to 'care' about Severus in **that** way? Severus wished that he knew how Euphrates felt about the High Lord back then –maybe it could give him a hint on how to go about with his dealings with Tristan. Homosexuality was not uncommon back in the 1800's, but there was still that connotation then of it being taboo –unlike now when it was frowned upon less. Did Euphrates Prince keep a similar journal? Severus did not know if his ancestor was one to write down his thoughts and feelings but…

Severus stood up from his bed. It was worth a try. The Potions Master headed for the living areas where the ledgers from yesterday were still lying about. He scanned the tabs dating back to the 1800's until his obsidian eyes found what he was looking for. If Euphrates did indeed keep a journal, it might be listed somewhere:

_**Euphrates Tiberius Prince**_

_**1789-1840**_

_**(Chief of Wizengamot)**_

_**1820-1840**_


	9. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8 Suspicions and The Subconscious**

"Gareth, why don't you just drop an anvil on my head now and be done with it?" A flustered Tristan Peverell stormed into his goblin advisor's office.

"My Lord, you should not be here! Lord Prince is still in the Lair. He cannot go unsupervised longer than a day in there –you have the amulet –he –"

"Oh, calm down. I'll just use a Time-Turner." Tristan waved him off. "it's just –argh! This is so bloody frustrating! Why does it have to be difficult?"

"I'm afraid I cannot answer that, my Lord."

Tristan sighed dejectedly.

"Can we not talk about him for **five** minutes? I want to know how Bill Weasley is progressing."

"He is in the second training lair right now as we speak, my Lord. Gorbink is with him. You are right. He is more trusting of us goblins than any wizard I've met –with your exception, of course."

Tristan smiled.

"At least something is going right." He began to pace the length of Gareth's office. "What of the missives for tomorrow's affair?"

"All set and ready to go, Lord Peverell. It will automatically be sent to all concerned parties, two hours prior to the scheduled trial for tomorrow."

"I see," Tristan nodded. "Can you make sure Professor McGonagall and her party are escorted to the event as well?"

"I will see to that, my Lord."

Tristan sighed and eyed the clock behind Gareth's desk.

"Has it been five minutes yet?"

Gareth smiled.

"More or less, my Lord."

"Kill me now."

"I'm afraid that I cannot do that, sir."

"Can't or won't?" Tristan challenged him. The goblin smirked.

"Both." The young Lord sighed yet again.

"Can you remind me why am I doing this again, Gareth?" His liaison gave him a pointed look.

"As the High Lord of Wizengamot, it is your duty to seek and implement justice and equality, as Lord Tristan Peverell, you have the pact weighing on your shoulders, as your own self, you care for Lord Prince –you have before in your former life, and you still do in this new undertaking."

Tristan rolled his eyes before breaking into a smile.

"It was a rhetorical question –but thanks, Gareth. I just wish that the 'whys' would somehow translate into 'hows'. I am still clueless as to the right approach. Nothing seems to work –and I still have almost a month left with him inside the Lair! I won't last if he keeps on intimidating me!"

"Well, why do you not just be yourself? And yes, I mean your former self, Lord Peverell. You seemed to have given Lord Prince a run for his money with that back then –"

"But that isn't me anymore, my good goblin. Four years is more than enough to change a man. I am no longer that bold and reckless brat I once was –and besides, he **hates** that. And he is already suspicious. I don't want him knowing the truth until after I make sure he's through the woods with Fudge and Umbridge. Need I remind you of what could possibly happen if he comes to know of my true identity? And what of the pact? I assure you, he'd rather lose his magic than fulfill his end of the bargain!"

Gareth looked thoughtful.

"Perhaps if you stop thinking too much, my Lord, things will just fall into place."

Tristan stared at the goblin before running his fingers through his hair.

"I –I suppose…"

"And let him toy with his suspicions from time to time –"

"WHAT?"

"No, Lord Peverell, it is a most wise approach. If he is to find out about your secret on his own –gradually –he is less likely to feel betrayed than if you do reveal it yourself."

The auburn-haired young noble's face was indescribable.

"I suppose that your suggestion would make sense if my brain was functioning correctly."

Gareth grinned.

"It would, Lord Peverell."

Lord Peverell eyed him warily.

"By any chance you have that anvil around here somewhere?"

**0101010101010101010**

Severus sighed dejectedly. It seemed that Euphrates prince did not keep a written record of his memoirs. His ledger was comprised mostly of Potions patents (he invented the Elixir to Induce Euphoria, it seemed) a few land titles, and lots of unmarked vials whose contents were only annotated as 'for storage'.

The Potions Master felt a headache coming on. It was already past midnight. He decided to turn in for the night and continue his research the following morning.

As soon as his head hit his pillow, he was dreaming.

**0101010101010101010**

_Severus straightened the collar of his black silk dress robes as he walked down a grand staircase leading to a massive ballroom. The floor was a gleaming rose-colored marble and the place was surrounded by huge glass cathedral windows. Real fairy lights adorned the boughs of pine and holly hanging over each and every one of them. A sea of votive candles floated high up in the air, giving the area and almost ethereal glow. Soft music wafted from an unseen string quartet –the beginnings of a waltz. A mass of people began to stand up and dance, as he reached the foot of the stairs, surveying the crowd as if looking for something._

"_Would you honor me with this dance, Lord Prince?"_

_Severus turned to look, and saw an impeccably dressed man in royal blue dress robes. The man had long tousled, jet-black hair that went down to his shoulders, a delicately tanned skin, and full red lips. He was also wearing a bejeweled half-mask to match his robes –but his brilliant emerald eyes shone right through._

"_Lord Peverell?" Severus asked. The man smiled and extended his hand towards him._

"_Please, call me Nile,":_

'Nile?'_ Severus raised his eyebrows almost imperceptibly. _'So this is Nile Peverell?'_ he found himself staring at the man and being drawn to the High Lord's eyes. Severus took the proffered hand. Nile's grin widened as he led the Potions Master to the dance floor._

_Nile Peverell was an excellent dancer and Severus found himself mesmerized by the young nobleman's grace and fluidity –it was almost as if it was already second nature to him to be able to dance that way –almost like breathing._

"_Enjoying yourself, Lord Prince?"_

"_Yes," Severus answered truthfully. Nile chuckled lightly. The onyx-eyed man found himself frowning._

"_What is it, that you find amusing?"_

_Nile stopped laughing but his smile never left his face._

"_You. I never had you pegged for the dancing type."_

_|it just goes to show you, Lord Peverell. Things aren't always what they seem,"_

_Nile's eyes caught the light. His mask sparkled in the candle glow but his eyes still pierced right through. Severus found himself almost hypnotized by the sight._

"_Too true, Lord Prince, too true," he sighed. The waltz ended. The other couples stopped dancing and broke into applause. But Nile did not let go of Severus. Instead, he pulled the obsidian-eyed man closer to him. Severus' breathing almost ceased as his heart started beating wildly against his chest. Nile released his hand, but only to place it on the other side of his waist. Their faces were leveled._

"_Lord Prince- " Nile began._

"_Please, call me Severus…"_

_Nile's lips curled into a serene smile._

"_Severus." And the man thought that his name had never sounded so beautiful as it did coming from the young Lord's lips._

"_Nile," he breathed, his own hands moving to cup the bemasked man's face. Nile drew closer._

"_May I kiss you, Severus?"_

_Onyx eyes widened in surprise, the cheeks it belonged to flushed deeply._

"_May –may I see your face?" he whispered back. Nile smiled._

"_Unmask me then,"_

_Severus' fingers came to life on its own and inched to remove the mask. With a deep breath, he pulled it off and gasped._

"_Ha- Harry?"_

**0101010101010101010**

Severus bolted right up from his bed, large beads of sweat dotting his forehead.

"WHAT –in Merlin's name –was THAT?"

He checked the charmed clock by his bedside table. It read: 3:05 a.m.

'_Too early.'_ Severus thought as he carded his long, potions-stained fingers through his damp locks and pushed the covers off of himself. He regularly went to bed wearing nothing but a pair of boxers –and that instance was no different –except for that obvious tent ,coming through the delicate silk fabric, between his legs.

"Great, just great," he murmured as he threw on a dressing robe and made his way to the bathroom. There was no way in hell that he could go back to sleep in that highly aroused state. Severus managed to make it to the shower in one piece. He turned the water on. It was bone-chilling, but it was just what he needed. He bent his head under the douche and let the water assault his tensed muscles. His thoughts then wandered back to the extremely confusing dream he had.

"Stupid bloody dream… stupid bloody Potter! Why must you invade even my nightmares?" Severus sighed as he thought back to his encounter with Nile Peverell. Why would Nile Peverell look even remotely like Potter? Why would his subconscious mind even make that connection? Did the medi-wizards at St. Mungo's misdiagnosed him? Was this paranoia of some sort? It was all too confusing. He hadn't even been thinking about the brat lately, so why would the brash Gryffindor star in any of his dreams? What was his mind playing at?

He stood under the ice-cold shower for what seemed like light-years, contemplating on his peculiar vision. Aside from that spoiler at the end, Severus thought that it was clear how he felt for the High Lord –or at least the image he portrayed, if the erection he got from merely dreaming of the man was any indication. But, did that actually translate to what he was supposed to feel for Tristan? In his dream, Nile Peverell wasn't anything like his young successor; they looked different, they moved differently, even their speech was not at all similar. If anything, Severus would be pressed to say, Nile was more akin to… Harry Bloody Potter. His hair, his eyes, his roguish charm…

'_Merlin, I __**am**__ losing it,'_ The Potions Master sighed. _'My whole life has been all about the brat –why must he figure into this new avenue as well? Even in his absence he still manages to torment me. Why, Harry? Why?'_ He then hit his head on the tiled wall. _'And why did I just call him __**Harry**__? When did he become Harry?'_ Harry had always been **Potter** to him: the annoying brat, the quintessential foolish Gryffindor. When he began training the boy in his fifth year, he had never been more than just a student to Severus –an annoying unwanted burden of a student. Surely, the animosity between them gradually lessened over time, and they may have even exchanged a few polite words over the course of the last war, but it never went beyond that –at least, that was what the Professor in him had wanted to think. They weren't friends, for they may never fully overcome all the bad blood between them spanning more than over two decades, but they were certainly **not** enemies.

But he was still somewhat aware of the sideway glances, the extra touches, the lingering smiles from the boy, when he thought that his most hated professor wasn't looking. Severus Snape was not an effective spy if he did not see from his peripheral vision what Potter was doing –what the boy thought were things that went unnoticed by the older wizard. And Severus would not have been an effective spy if he did not make the connection: heaven forbid, Potter fancied him.

For some unknown reason though, he could not bring himself to be disgusted by the notion, as he thought he would be at first. Surely, the boy –no, the young man – was too juvenile, too naïve, too annoying –but he had to admit, although he would not say it out loud even under the threat of a vicious death, that Potter was quite attractive and charming to an extent.

Severus shook his head. When he started to think of Harry Potter as 'attractive' and 'charming', that was a **very** clear sign that he was **really** losing it. He turned the water off and reached for a towel.

Maybe after all of this ruckus, he could visit that mind healer once more.


	10. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9 Propositions**

Severus was properly dressed by exactly 7 in the morning. Just for the dun of it, he had forgone his usual black robes: he was wearing a white button down shirt with the top two buttons left undone and the sleeves rolled up to just past his elbows. He paired this with slim cut trousers in charcoal gray –something he had found in the closet of clothes Tristan had apparently gotten for him.

The Potions Master spent a few fleeting seconds thinking about the young Lord as he tied his long locks (with a leather tie by his nape), which apparently did not get too greasy if he was away from potions fumes for a while.

Tristan left right after their disastrous dance lesson. Severus knew that he was at fault. Normally he wouldn't bother but he knew he needed to set things straight and apologize to his host and tutor.

Then, there was that disturbing dream. Severus wondered if he should even take it seriously. His mind obviously was playing tricks on him.

He was so engrossed in his thoughts that he did not notice the pair of eyes watching him as he took his seat in the dining room.

"A sickle for your thoughts?"

Severus almost jumped up in surprise. In front of him sat a very wide-awake, very put-together and very cheerful-looking Tristan Peverell. The young lord grinned.

"Good Morning, Lord Prince,"

"Good Morning, Lord Peverell," The onyx-eyed man intoned formally. "I'm afraid I did not see you there."

"Nor did I think that you would, seeing that you were in a highly-contemplative mood. A pressing problem perchance?"

Severus took a sip of his tea: black with lemon. He noticed that Tristan took his the same way. He sighed.

"No," he then set his cup down and carefully eyed the nobleman. "Although, there are a few things that I would wish to discuss with you if you would allow it."

Tristan's smile dropped a notch, but only just. He reached for his own tea cup.

"Is that so?"

Severus nodded. For some reason, as Tristan's verdant gaze lingered on him, he felt like a recalcitrant child, coming clean for a naughty misdemeanor… wait, weren't Tristan's eyes blue? The man frowned as he stared at the younger's brilliant orbs.

"Your eyes are… green," he blurted out before he could stop himself. Tristan gave him a bemused look.

"As they have always been," The young lord said firmly. "Do we have a problem with my eyes?"

Severus froze momentarily before proceeding.

"No, I –it is of no trouble. My own eyes must have been deceiving me. I apologize for the rudeness."

"Never mind it, Severus." Tristan said, his eyes still not leaving the Potions Master's. "I'm sure that it was an honest mistake. Not many people take time to look deep into my eyes as you have."

Severus fought the urge to blush at the insinuation that he was staring into the other man's eyes. He cleared his throat loudly to cover up the awkwardness.

"Very well, I would still like to further apologize for what had transpired yesterday during our tutorial session. It was wrong for me to have misled you no matter how unintentional it was and usurp your position as my instructor –"

"No," Tristan waved him off. "I assure you, it was all right. I was merely caught off-guard. Forgive me if I had left in a hurry –I had pressing matters to see to or I would have returned yesterday evening."

"Indeed," Severus knew that the young man had been at least offended, but if he was willing to dismiss the infraction, then who was he to argue? "So I assume that we would be continuing with our lessons today?"

Tristan nodded as he started on his breakfast of pancakes drenched in maple syrup.

"No more dancing, if that's what you meant." He winked, spearing a forkful of pancakes and swirling it around his plate. "We'll tackle customs and traditions today." He brought the fork to his lips and slid the syrup-laden bite into his mouth. Tristan made a motion of closing his eyes as he chewed –as if savoring the food in his mouth, before swallowing –the act of which did not go unnoticed to the Potions Master. He found himself staring, yet again, at the young lord and chastising himself for doing so. He willed himself to look away and focus his attention on his own plate.

**0101010101010101010**

Severus sat in an overstuffed armchair in the living area, a few minutes after breakfast. Tristan told him to wait as the young lord went to retrieve something.

"Here we go," Tristan entered the room with a smile, carrying a moderately large box in his hands. Severus raised his eyebrows as the said box was laid on the low table in front of him. Tristan noticed the look and smirked."As you may very well have noticed, things aren't always what they seem –especially among the nobility."

Hearing the familiar phrase, Severus' thoughts wandered fleetingly back to his dream, but immediately shook then off. Now was not the time for such notions. He turned his attention back towards Tristan who was removing the lid of the generic-looking cardboard box.

"Symbolism is prevalent in out circle," the young man was saying. "a simple gesture can mean a thousand words and a slight fidget can begin a feud."

Severus found himself listening attentively. Not only was the topic of interest to him, but Tristan had a way with words: he never spoke too loudly, nor too fast –in fact, he was always almost whispering and his words lingered in his lips. The effect made the listener stop and stare and give him one's undivided attention. Tristan Peverell would make a good public speaker, Severus thought.

"This is a standard pocket watch," the enigmatic man was saying, holding up a brass chain watch for Severus' inspection. "Traditionally, these are given to wizards when they come of age, noble or not. It is quite useful and stylish to carry around. However, it serves as a more important purpose to a Lord and Head of a Noble House. Here –" he tossed the pocket watch towards the Potions master who caught it deftly in one hand. The man turned it over to inspect it and found his breath hitching. There on the back panel, was the Prince Coat of Arms. When he looked back at Tristan, the young lord was smiling at Severus.

"That –is yours to keep. I assumed that your grandfather would have wanted you to receive that on your 17th birthday, had he known what a great man you would have become."

For Severus, there was no other reply.

"Thank you,"

Tristan merely nodded and produced his own pocket watch. This one however, contained the Peverell Coat of Arms. It looked positively ancient.

"Nile Peverell's." He explained, seeing the other man's inquisitive look. "He was the last to own this –"

"Had he no direct heir?" Severus asked curiously. Tristan sighed.

"That is a lesson for another time, Severus. But to answer your question briefly, no. He did not. And before you ask, I was descended from his sister, Anastasia."

Severus nodded, briefly remembering a mention of Nile Peverell's sister in the journal he was reading; Anastasia, who married a Siegfried –whose last name Severus failed to remember.

"Shall we proceed then?"

"Of course," Severus said, and his thoughts were driven away from Nile Peverell's family tree. For the next hour, Tristan drilled him on the symbolisms of using one's pocket watch. Apparently, showing it off with the crest visible was one way of asserting one's position in society. A Lord never tells time from his watch like a commoner does. It was merely a tool for display. Asking time from another Lord was a big no-no; it shows that you deem him to be of lower standing and could indeed start a feud if said offended lord was touchy. There were also different ways on how one glances at the clock face: a quick glance denotes impatience (note to observer: "Hurry up!"), a lingering glance denotes contemplation ("I'm still thinking about your proposition."), while repeatedly looking at it signifies boredom ("This is a complete waste of my time!). Severus sighed deeply after Tristan pronounced his "quick glance" a "passable attempt."

"I wonder how on earth people manage to remember all of that," he rubbed the bridge of his aquiline nose.

"Usually heirs to the line are literally trained from infancy. But we both don't have the luxury of that so we make do with what little time we have… and don't worry, I won't have you declaring feuds on anyone anytime soon. Now let's get going to handkerchiefs!"

The next hour was then spent on having Severus pretend to offer his pristine white handkerchief to Tristan, who played the roles of a little girl, an older woman, and a young, single and unattached lady interchangeably. A Lord offers his handkerchief in but three instances: to comfort a markedly younger female, to offer support to a markedly elder lady, and the one Severus was having a hard time imagining himself doing, propositioning a young woman he was interested in. And it did not help that Tristan was supposed to be the lady he was going for.

"Use your right hand, left denotes insincerity –and offer it lengthwise! Wrist out –it shows vulnerability. The crest should hang from the tips of your fingers facing the person you are offering it to!" Severus fought hard not to fidget at his drill master's words as he attempted to deliver. He used his right hand to draw his white handkerchief from his pocket, held it lengthwise with the portion containing his family crest dangling from the tips of his fingers. He made a show of flexing his wrist as he offered his proposition to the "lady" in front of him.

"My lady," he intoned in his rich baritone, bowing as per Tristan's directions, only half a head ("A Lord only bows deeply towards a Lady of equal or greater stature, never to one less, never to one he is propositioning, never to another Lord regardless of stature! Do not in any way bow to another man, remember that Severus! It signifies giving the other Lord power over you. So unless you would want to profess fealty to another man… A curt nod would do.")

Tristan was watching him with hawk eyes. When Severus emerged from his incline, Tristan was smiling. The young lord then grabbed Severus' wrist gently, his own wrist covering the Prince Family Crest on the white cloth, and curtsied. Severus watched with interest. Tristan noticed this and chuckled lightly. He then let go of the Lord-in-Training's wrist, took the handkerchief from him and held it against his chest. Severus looked utterly confused.

"What, pray tell, did just happen?"

Tristan was laughing good-naturedly.

"You have just earned yourself a steady, Lord Prince."

"A steady?"

"I have just accepted your proposition." Tristan explained. "Once a lady does what I just did, you become her steady –a constant escort of sorts. Depending on negotiations between you and her Head of House, you are one step closer to being engaged."

Severus looked curious.

"Just a hypothetical question: how does one Lord propose to another?"

Tristan dropped the handkerchief in surprise.

"You –you mean-?" The young Lord then recovered. "A hypothetical question, you say?"

Severus held the man's gaze and nodded as he made an effort to pick up the fallen piece of cloth. He brushed off the dust and placed it back in his pocket.

"I assume it has been done before?"

"Yes," Tristan said, still evidently dazed from the unforeseen query. "Only once in recorded history, actually."

"Really? Who?"

Tristan blushed.

"Nile Peverell."

"Ah, but of course," Severus breathed. "How did it end?"

"It –it didn't" Tristan stammered.

"I beg your pardon?" Severus asked, quirking his immaculate eyebrows. "You just said he proposed to another Lord…"

"A Lord-Apparent," The emerald-eyed man clarified. "Yes, but it never came through. It carried out like a normal proposition at first, but – but his chosen one did not complete the ritual."

"Do you mean he was rejected?" Severus could hardly believe that anyone I their right minds would have rejected Nile Peverell. If his dream was anything to go by, he himself would not have. Tristan however shook his auburn head.

"The ritual was never completed. An acceptance was what I had showed you. A rejection is done by literally "turning down" the proffered hand by the wrist. Nile Peverell's chosen simply walked off."

"Isn't that a rejection?" Severus clarified. Again, Tristan shook his head.

"No. Running away from a proposal is not a refusal. It is just that –running away. It breaks the ritual –"

"Is it **that** bad?" Severus felt that this was going somewhere rather unpleasant. Tristan stared at him.

"Breaking a proposition ritual is the worst one could do. The man proposing in a broken ritual can never propose to another. Ever."

The Lord-in-Training paled.

"You mean –"

Tristan sighed."The chosen one can still propose, in case of a man, or be proposed to, in case of a woman. But –Nile Peverell had never been able to profess love to another after his chosen one broke the ritual. Not that he still wanted to, I've heard."

"Is that why –but –" Severus let the information sink in. From what he had read, Nile Peverell was intended for an American witch whom he clearly disliked. So things probably did not push through between them if the young Lord Peverell proposed to another… Lord. But apart from Callista Reinhart, there was only one other mentioned in the diary that Nile had a remote chance of being interested in. But, there was no way… Severus looked at Tristan once more. He knew what the answer was to be, he felt. And yet, he knew he had to ask still. He just had to.

"Who – was Nile Peverell's chosen?"

Tristan looked at him sadly before answering.

"Euphrates Prince."


	11. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10 Doubts and Distractions**

_**March 13, 1811**_

_My heart aches, broken and used. I will never love another. Not after Euphrates. Broken ritual or not, my heart refuses to beast any longer…_

**0101010101010101010**

It was a little after lunch. The rest of the morning progressed quite uneventfully for Severus as he and Tristan had reached an unspoken agreement to not discuss further the tragic love affair between both their ancestors. And after a quiet lunch, Severus retreated to his personal quarters and perused the journal that lay on his bedside table. He went thru entry after entry, detailing what seemed to have been a blossoming long-distance relationship through countless letters between Nile and Euphrates until he found what he was looking for. He read and re-read March 16, 1811's entry. The few words written on top of the page were more than enough for the Potions master to assume how Nile Peverell must have felt. The High Lord was clearly head over heels with Severus' ancestor. For a moment, the obsidian-eyed man could not help but feel rage towards his elder. How could Euphrates do that to Nile? How? He vowed to find out what made Euphrates Prince break Nile Peverell's heart. He glanced at the clock by his bedside. His lessons would resume at 3 p.m. He still had time to kill. He turned back to the diary in his hands.

_**March 16, 1811**_

_I refuse to continue living. I have called for a full court hearing. I am stepping down. What good would power do if it cannot give you your heart's desires?_

'_Indeed_,' Severus thought. He then frowned. Was this the reason Nile Peverell vacated his Seat? A broken heart? He continued on to the next entry.

_**March 16, 1811**_

_The whole court was in uproar. And yet, nobody dared to stop me, not even Morpheus Prince who had become almost like a mentor to me until recently. Everything is falling apart…_

_**March 22, 1811**_

_The only spark of light in my dark and dank existence. My sister Anastasia has given birth to a boy, Harold Siegfried. The little one would be my heir…_

'_So that's how Tristan came to inherit,'_ Severus mused. _'But that still does not explain why he carries the Peverell name. Shouldn't he be named after the man Anastasia Peverell married? Shame the diary failed to mention the surname of his many time great-grandfather.'_

_**March 25, 1811**_

_I want to talk to him, demand for an explanation… but I know that in doing so, I would only make it more difficult for me to let go. I still ache for my lost love. Every day I spend without him, I die a little more inside. I will not last much longer. I am sinking deeper._

_Only he can save me._

_**March 26, 2011**_

_I think of the moment I met him –my life had never been the same since then. I then think of his insistence –to repay the life debt…_

_Did I read his motives wrong? Had I been led to believe that he too wanted me, only for him to break my heart and rip my soul?_

_A shameful thought. I must refrain from doing such a thing. I still would like an explanation from him… or maybe not… My mind is in chaos. But what is done has been done, regretful or not. I only hope that when the time comes for the pact to come into fruitition, that the Last Prince shall be more forgiving…_

'_Pact? Last Prince?'_ Severus frowned as he re-read that entry. _'And a life debt? The Princes owned the Peverells a life debt?' _His head was spinning all of a sudden. He tried to force down the doubt and rage rising from his chest.

Did Tristan know this? Was his attempts at helping him regain the Seat connected in any way to this pact? Severus shook his head. It wasn't like him to jump in to conclusions. He personally knew the consequences of judging people based on doubts. He would now just have to hold his cards closer to his chest. He would still like to think that the High Lord's concern for him was genuine. He agreed to this on that principle. Although, deep within him, he knew that he could hardly get out of this mess without losing anything.

**0101010101010101010**

At exactly 3 in the afternoon, Severus walked back into the living area. He noticed that the couches had been banished and that a long metal work table had replaced the furniture. A sink dotted one end as did a selection of cauldrons did the other. Tristan stood near the sink, smiling at him.

"Three guesses as to what we're doing and the first two don't count,"

Severus cocked an eyebrow. Tristan's grin widened.

"I figured we go over your Prince Heritage. It seemed that every man in your line was a Potions master or alchemist of some sort." He gestured at the cauldrons. "I thought we'd make it into a game. After all, we need all the fun we could get if we are to survive a month with nobody but each other for company."

"Indeed," Severus said simply. Tristan laughed. The Potions master's eyes were already shining with excitement at the prospect of brewing. Sometimes, Severus Snape was just too predictable. The Lord-in-Training was already inspecting the makeshift Potions Lab.

"A game, you say?" he asked Tristan. "What of my dire need to learn how to tie a kerchief or the symbolism of cuff links?"

The High Lord smirked.

"We can't have you dying of boredom now, can we?" He began pulling potions ingredients out of a cardboard box. "And besides, you'd still have time for that –three more weeks to learn of cuff links and wands and socks –"

Severus huffed.

"I seriously hope that there is more to this Lordship than socks."

Tristan chuckled but said nothing. He was arranging jars and vials on top of the work table. Severus looked at the ingredients keenly: ground beetle eyes, salmon roe, doxy eggs, freshwater pearls, monkshood, lethe river water, gerbil spleen, arsenic, vervain, chamomile, powdered bicorn horn, safflower oil, daisy roots, a vial of phoenix tears and another small vial that held an amber liquid Severus was pressed hard to identify just by plain sight. The ingredients presented were wide in range and purposes. However, if he took out the arsenic and phoenix tears, he knew exactly what the potion was to be. He turned to Tristan with an inquisitive stare.

"You want me to brew a Fertility Potion?" Severus challenged the young man. The Fertility Potion was not really hard to make, only complicated due to the number of ingredients to be prepared in a myriad of ways and the complex stirring patterns it required –but it certainly did not take a Master of his caliber to successfully make it. Tristan had a smug look on his face. Severus shrugged.

"Not that I am ever turning down an opportunity to brew, but I fail to see why this relates to my heritage. It was not even a Prince who invented this mundane concoction."

Tristan raised an eyebrow/

"Of course, professor," The young man said. "But we are not making a fertility potion –" he motioned towards the ingredients. "What does not belong here?"

The Lord-in-Training furrowed his brows. Was this man really challenging his knowledge as a Potions Master? He took a deep breath, trying to control his temper.

"Arsenic and Phoenix Tears. Arsenic would render the properties of lethe river water useless, and phoenix tears would spoil the safflower oil. Simply put, those two ingredients would cause an explosion if added to the base of the fertility potion."

Tristan merely nodded. He grabbed the unknown vial of amber liquid. "And this, professor?" Severus took the vial from him and inspected it against the light. He gently swirled the contents before opening the seal and removing the stopper. He then took a glass dropper, extracted a bit of liquid and let the drop fall onto the metal work bench. When it did not react, he took a tentative sniff of the vial. The man's eyes widened.

"Basilisk venom? But –"

Tristan smiled. From his pocket, he pulled out a battered-looking journal with gold peeling letters on the cover –and the unmistakable Prince Family Crest.

"I managed to nick this out of Prince Manor."

Severus did not even register the fact that he had a Manor to his name, or the fact that Tristan Peverell managed to break into the supposedly ancient wards surrounding the property. He was busy looking at the small bound book in the young lord's hand.

"Is that –"

"A journal of potions experiments," Tristan had a strange glint in his eye. "A journal of FAILED potions experiments,"

"Failed?" Now Severus was confused. He frowned. "I do not seem to grasp your twisted logic, Lord Peverell."

"Ah, aren't I too young to be twisted?" The young lord sighed. He flipped through the pages of the journal. "Now see, this indeed had been a collection of unsuccessful attempts. But, seeing as your ancestors were the brilliant and persistent men that they were, most of the recipes in here have already been remedied –"

Severus looked smug.

"But of course –"

"Except for one." Tristan declared rather triumphantly as he showed Severus what seemed to have been the last entry on the journal.

"A Male Pregnancy Potion?" he stared at the written text Tristan was holding out for him to read and scanned the ingredients. He then looked over to the ones on the table. "You want me to attempt to rectify this botched-up attempt?"

"But of course."

Severus grabbed the potions journal from the young lord's hands and began scanning the notes his previous ancestor that had last tried it had left. Actually, the author and the last reviewer were the one and the same to have done so. Severus noted some crossed-out ingredients and some added ones, as well as modifications on the stirring patterns. Basically, the recipe was almost identical to a basic fertility potion for females with some changes. He was absorbing the writings for a few minutes until a frown crossed his face. He thrust the book back to Tristan with a huff. The young lord cocked his head in silent wonderment. Severus caught his calculating look.

"That potion –is impossible."

"Oh, how so?" Tristan asked nonchalantly. Severus took a deep breath but said nothing. Tristan's eyes brightened.

"Of course, you would already know what went wrong, right Severus?" The Potions Master glared at him.

"Even with the addition of basilisk venom, the arsenic will still need to be neutralized. Phoenix tears would not suffice even if I substitute almond oil for safflower oil –not unless –" he stopped mid-rant and turned to the journal once more. "Unless –have you got a quill on you, Tristan?"

The High Lord chuckled at the man's impassioned look as he handed him a luxurious eagle-feather quill. Severus turned to a fresh page on the journal and began scribbling away. Tristan watched mesmerized as the man bent over the table where he laid the book down. Severus had this wild look in his eyes whenever he dealt with Potions that was almost too –enticing to see, Tristan knew that the man would not just back down from any potions puzzle without reason and that he would not stop until he found his answers, The young lord decided to sit on the workbench next to Severus, his long legs dangling on the edge, as the Potions Master made his own notes on the Male Pregnancy Potion. About fifteen minutes later…

"Damn!" The quill snapped against the force of the table. Tristan looked inquiringly at the older man. A few soft tendrils of Severus' hair escaped the leather tie that was holding them by his nape and was now framing his rather striking face.

"Have you figured it out?"

Severus looked at the younger man and sighed dejectedly.

"I see why Euphrates was unsuccessful."

"Euphrates?"

Severus pointed to the initials 'E.T.P.' at the bottom of the last page he w3as inspecting earlier and the year '1811' beside it.

"He was the author of this potion and the only one to modify it as well. And I see why the others after him did not even attempt."

"And that is?"

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. Tristan noticed that he did that a lot when he was pressured or tensed –or agitated.

"The potion –is not impossible to brew. But the ingredient that completes it –is almost too impossible to procure –even more rare than the basilisk venom."

Tristan looked intrigued. Severus continued on.

"Basilisk venom, while containing the right properties, is not potent enough. It would be useless to attempt this potion. Forget it –"

"Wait, you haven't given up yet, have you?" Tristan asked. Severus gave him an imploring look, crossing his arms across his chest.

"Well, Lord Peverell, unless you can somehow acquire freshly-ground basilisk fangs from a female adult basilisk, then I suggest we cease this farce."

The High Lord just grinned at him.


	12. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11 Closer**

Severus did not even ask when Tristan gave him a whole basilisk fang and a heavy stone grinder the next day. The Potions Master had the workbench moved to his quarters and upon receiving his needed ingredient, shut himself in his room with express orders to not be disturbed at any cost. Tristan joked and asked if it was still to be the case if the building were to catch fire. Severus just glared and shut the door unceremoniously right at the young lord's face. Tristan sighed. Some things never really change. He was prepared not to see the man for days, so when Severus barged in the dining room in the middle of dinner that night, with a huge smile on his normally stoic face Tristan paused in the middle of attacking his slice of shepherd's pie.

"I see you are progressing well?"

Severus took the seat opposite him.

"The base is done. I just need to add the remaining doxy eggs –one every 24 hours for the next ten days –and let it sit for two days afterwards."

Tristan's eyes shone with something akin to pride.

"That's brilliant, Sev! I knew you could do it!" He beamed. Severus did not know why he was blushing –whether it was the high praise coming from a High Lord no less, or the familiar but downright uncomfortable pet name that slipped off of Tristan's tongue. Not knowing what to say, he nodded and turned to his pie.

"I still have to test it, though," he eventually said. Tristan waved him off.

"I'm sure it would work."

Severus raised an eyebrow.

"You believe in my capacity that much?"

Tristan grabbed a goblet of pumpkin juice and took a sip.

"I'd test your potion myself,"

Severus, who was in the process of chewing, choked violently at that pronouncement.

"WHA –"

"Severus!" Tristan spat out the pumpkin juice in his mouth and rushed towards the other side of the table. He immediately saw to the now purple-faced wizard. The young lord helped him stand up and wrapped his arms around the man's midsection from behind. Tristan then made a fist with his right hand and with his left hand assisting it, he positioned himself and Severus for a Heimlich maneuver. Tristan pushed the man's midsection upward towards his own, gently but firmly. It took three thrusts before Severus' windpipe was clear yet again. The young lord breathed a sigh of relief when he heard the man coughing, but he had been panicking enough to not notice that they still remained in that awkward position.

"Are you okay?" Worried green eyes searched for a confirmation.

"I –I thank you," Obsidian glanced back. For a moment, their eyes connected and they were lost in each other's worlds. There were words to be spoken, sentiments to be aired, but for that one fleeting moment, time seemed to have stopped for the two powerful wizards.

It was Severus who broke the spell this time.

"I am quite well, thank you Lord Peverell,"

Tristan only noticed then that he still had his arms around the Lord-in-Training. He reddened and withdrew them hastily.

"I –I apologize for catching you off-guard with my statement." The young lord made his way back to his seat as Severus reclaimed his own. The older wizard was watching him pensively.

"You could have used '_Anapneo_,'"

Tristan blushed.

"No wizard magic works here, remember? And besides, I… panicked. It was pure instinct,"

Severus nodded and took a sip of his own goblet of pumpkin juice.

"I see. I should be glad that the High Lord of Wizengamot knows muggle first aid, thank you." He placed his goblet back down. "You did mean that though? You would test the Male Pregnancy Potion?"

Tristan suddenly found the table cloth interesting.

"I –well –I have always wanted a family," He clearly looked quite agitated as he spoke. Severus understood the sentiment and decided not to probe further. He sighed.

"Then I thank you for the trust, Lord Peverell," Tristan blushed.

"I –You're welcome, Lord Prince," he then stood up from his seat. "Now, if you'll excuse me, there are things I must attend to…"

**0101010101010101010**

_**June 7, 1811**_

_He wrote to me. After three months. I guess he wanted to explain or to see how I am faring in his absence. His purpose, I wouldn't know. I burned his letter without reading it. Tigris seemed upset at my action as she tried to bite my ear off before heading back to Prince Manor to report to her master._

_Why? Why try to contact me now? Are his nights plagued by nightmares like mine were?_

_I was ready to give everything up for him. Was it too much to ask for the same in return?_

**0101010101010101010**

Over the next two weeks, both tutor and Lord-in-Training have fallen into a comfortable routine. Mornings were spent by Severus attending to his potion while Tristan saw to his own estate business. Lessons on Wizarding Law 101 commenced right before lunch and Noble Customs after. Post-dinner, they tackled other varying topics ranging from swordsmanship, lordship rites and finance.

Severus became more and more entrenched as well into the ramblings of one Nile Peverell. It had almost become a daily Bible to him –the journal never left his bedside. The more he had read of it though, the more the questions in his mind plagued his reveries.

He still had no clue on how to approach his host. As the days went on by, Tristan Peverell became more and more of an enigma. The more time Severus spent with him, the more he became perplexed.

There were those clues… the little slip-ups that pointed to one thing; but there were also those instances that questioned his train of thought.

The day he finished the Male Pregnancy Potion, Severus decided to approach Tristan Peverell. It was way past dinnertime; he carried the cooled vial of potion and rapped on the young lord's bedroom door.

"Lord Peverell?" Came the knock. He waited a few seconds. There was no answer. He was about to knock again when a blood-curling scream came from the other side of the door.

"_**AAAAAAHHHH!"**_

Severus almost dropped the vial he was holding. If not for his Death Eater/ spy-trained reflexes, his two-week work of art would have been ruined. He immediately stowed the vial in the pocket of his robes and turned his attention to the door.

"Lord Peverell? Tristan?"

"_**AAAAAAHHHH!"**_

Screw propriety.

Severus pressed his ear against the heavy mahogany panel.

"_**NO! Merlin, NOOOOO!"**_

"Tristan! What on earth is going on in there?" He yelled at the door, a panicked look gracing his features. His common sense dictated that there should be no one else to get past the Lair aside from Tristan, Gareth, Dinky and himself… So why the heck was the young Lord screaming like someone was bloody murdering him?

"_**You –you can't die! Not you –MERLIN –don't –LEAVE HIM ALONNE!"**_

Then, it hit Severus.

"Tristan! Wake up, you fool! It is merely a nightmare!" Severus screamed, rattling the brass doorknob.

"_**AAAAAAHHHH!"**_

In a split-second, the obsidian-eyed wizard was pushing against the door with all his might, never more wishing that he could have just blasted the thing with a well-placed _'reducto'_. In his third attempt though, the heavy locked door gave way.

The normally stoic man gasped at the sight that greeted him.

The usually composed and put-together young man was bare from the waist up, twisted among the red silk sheets of his bed spread, unconscious, with his now luminously pale skin drenched in sweat. But that otherwise, rather erotic picture, was not what caused Severus' reaction, but the expression on the nobleman's face.

Terror. Pain. Horror.

"Tristan!" Severus began to shake him in an attempt to awaken the thrashing wizard.

"Unh… no, please, Sev –"

Severus dropped the arm he was holding. Tristan was dreaming… about him? He watched the scene unfold, frozen stiff –the alarm he first felt in seeing the man in that circumstance, forgotten.

"Leave him alone! NO! You can't –you bloody git! You can't die!"

Severus' breath hitched.

"You can't, you hear me? You can't die! I –I lo –"

**0101010101010101010**

_(flashback)_

"_Out of my way! I need to see Madame Pomfrey!" A bloodied young man stormed through the swing doors of Hogwarts Infirmary, levitating what appeared to be a sack of potatoes behind him. His hair was mussed up; His glasses, broken; His face, marred by numerous cuts and bruises; His clothes, caked with mud and stained with almost dried blood._

_A harried-looking woman in crumpled pale blue robes rushed towards him._

"_Mr. Potter! What on earth –"_

_Harry Potter dumped his burden on the nearest bed before his knees gave way._

"_Heal –Heal him!" he motioned towards the pile of black cloth he had just deposited on the bed._

"_Nonsense! You need assistance far more than anyone else!" The famed medi-witch moved towards him._

"_NO!" The Chosen One yelled. "Heal him first! He managed an anti-venom, I reckon –but his neck –See to him!" he roared. Poppy Pomfrey had never seen the young man, in all her years of attending to him, in such an agitated state. She found herself seeing to the other body Mr. Potter brought over._

"_Severus Snape! The traitor! The aurors –"_

"_SHUT UP!" Harry screamed. "Shut up and heal him!" He fixed her a desperate glare. "Please, Madame Pomfrey, he's innocent –"_

_The medi-witch raised an eyebrow but said nothing. She proceeded to tending to the ex-spy's wounds as Harry looked on. A few minutes later…_

"_Is he okay now?" The young man croaked. Poppy looked at him._

"_He's out of danger now. But he'll need time to fully recover." She sighed. "Mr. Potter, the aurors –the Ministry –"_

_Harry nodded._

"_I'll have to speak to Professor McGonagall. Severus Snape is innocent,"_

"_But –"_

_Harry raised his wand and drew a series of complicated patterns in the air. He turned to Poppy._

"_This private room has been warded. Only Professor McGonagall, you or I may enter."_

"_But –"_

_Harry smiled tiredly at her._

"_It will all be fine, Madame Pomfrey, trust me," He showed her a vial in his hand. And then, he was gone."_

**0101010101010101010**

Tristan bolted up from his bed with a loud gasp. He automatically reached up to his forehead. He sighed. His dreams were now constantly plagued by snakes, blood and death. It had been months –years –since… and months that he had resolved to take Dreamless Sleep more regularly. He must've forgotten this time. Good thing for Goblin Silencing charms…

Oh. Bloody. Crap.

Tristan closed his eyes.

'_Please. Please tell me I remembered to activate the Silencing charms. Please, please, please…'_

He opened his eyes once more.

Beside his bed stood, a frozen, tight-lipped and pale-faced Severus Snape…

Oh. Bloody. Crap.

**0101010101010101010**

"_**You can't die! I –I love you!"**_

There had to be some **other** explanation to this insanity.

Severus watched as Tristan Peverell woke up from his nightmare on his own. The young lord's hand immediately flew up to his forehead, seemingly oblivious to his presence. He knew he should move, say something or breathe even, but he couldn't. His mind was on overdrive.

There had better be some **other** explanation as to why Tristan Peverell was dreaming about his death and professing love to him –apparently. He tried to find something coherent from the depths of his mind. He couldn't. Nothing.

But when Tristan's bright green, teary eyes met his own dark, fathomless orbs, all of a sudden, it clicked.

**0101010101010101010**

_(flashback)_

'_Is this death? If it is, it fails to excite me. So much for Albus' Next Great Adventure.'_

_Severus found himself wandering. There was no other word to describe this existence…_

_Black._

_Darkness enveloped him from all sides. There was nothing to see. He cannot even hear the sound of his own breathing –not that he would be. He was dead, right?_

_Then, a voice…_

"_**Leave him alone!"**_

_Severus frowned. That voice was familiar… a voice that plagued his existence for almost a third of his life._

"_**NOOO! You can't! Leave him ALONE!"**_

'_Potter. Must you continue to annoy me even in the afterlife?'_

"_**No, please –"**_

'_Yes, please, Potter. Cease this infernal screaming and leave me alone. I would much prefer spending my death in peace, thank you very much.'_

"_**No, you can't die! You hear me?"**_

'_For crying out loud! Why won't you let me be? I've already passed on! And stop screaming! You are proving to be loud enough to wake the dearly departed!'_

"_**NO! You can't –you bloody git! You can't die! I –"**_

'_Who are you calling a git, Potter? Twenty points from Gryffin-"_

"_**I love you!"**_

' –_dor.'_

_Suddenly, a flood of bright light…_

_Severus opened his eyes._

"_Oh, thank heavens, you're awake!" A female voice exclaimed._

"_Where –where am I?" The ex-spy/ Death Eater squinted as his vision adjusted. He turned to where the voice was coming from._

"_P –Poppy?"_

_Poppy Pomfrey was in tears._

"_Oh Severus!" He was suddenly enveloped in a hug. "Thank Merlin!"_

"_What –how –how am I still alive? How -did I get -here? And why -are you -hugging -me?" He managed to croak out between deep breaths. "For -Circe's -sake, woman! Why -are you -crying?"_

_Poppy pulled back and gave him a glare._

"_Of you poor, daft, innocent man! Harry –"_

"_Mr. Potter?" Severus raised his eyebrows. "Where –is he?"_

"_He left for the Ministry –with proof of your innocence. He brought you here. He says you managed to take anti-venom for that blasted snake's poison but –oh, thank Merlin he was right on time. He was screaming –demanding to have you healed. I –I almost didn't, but –he said you were innocent. Oh, I'm so sorry for ever doubting you, Severus. Now I know –and Minerva knows! We will care for you –"_

_Severus felt a monster of a headache coming on._

"_And –the Dark –Lord?"_

"_Harry killed him! He's finally gone for good!"_

_Severus Snape finally allowed himself to succumb to darkness once more._


	13. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12 Confrontation**

"Severus," Tristan took a deep breath, casting a wary glance at the other man. "I –"

"How –why –" Severus stared back, completely forgetting that the man was practically naked. "You –"

Tristan sighed.

"Look, I –let me get dressed. I can expl –I'll answer all your questions,"

Severus' neutral expression graduated into a frown. He folded his arms across his chest.

"Five minutes. In the living area. A second more and I demand to be let out of the Lair."

Tristan nodded. Severus swept out of the room, his robes billowing behind him.

**0101010101010101010**

When Tristan entered the living area, he was dressed in his Peverell robed of royal blue. He looked every inch of the High Lord that he was. Severus on the other hand had removed his clack outer robes and draped them over the back of the armchair he was occupying. He was staring off to space, nursing what appeared to be brandy. He barely acknowledged Tristan's entrance. He crossed his legs and set the glass he was holding down on the low coffee table in front of him.

"Sit." The Potions Master said simply, gesturing towards the seat opposite him. "Explain."

Tristan bit his lip as he took the seat.

"I would prefer to answer any questions you have, Lord Prince. I am not sure as to what you have heard or witnessed. It would take us less time if we only discuss what you seem necessary."

Severus gave him a glare.

"You were having a nightmare."

Tristan nodded slowly.

"yes."

"About –about myself,"

Another nod. The Potions Master leaned back in his seat.

"You were screaming. You were asking someone to leave somebody alone –"

"Death," The young lord breathed.

"Death?" Severus raised an eyebrow. Tristan avoided his gaze.

"I was speaking to Death –to leave you alone,"

Severus' mouth was agape.

"You –You –"

Tristan sighed. Again, he nodded wordlessly at the unasked question. If possible, Severus' eyes widened even more.

"But –how –the –"

Tristan snapped his fingers. Dinky appeared.

"Master Tristan called?"

"Dinky, please grab my cloak and the box sitting right next to it."

"Yes sir," the house elf disappeared and reappeared a few seconds later with the requested items. Tristan nodded at the elf to dismiss her, before turning to the other wizard in the room, he laid an ornate-looking box, the size of a large tome, on the low table. Right next to it, he placed the silvery cloth. He glanced at Severus. The man was eyeing the object suspiciously. He looked at Tristan.

"You were dreaming of my death –since when?"

The young lord paused.

"Since it happened,"

"And you bargained with Death in exchange, for your sanity –the nightmares –" the elder wizard's voice rose. "It gave you the nightmares in exchange for **my soul**?"

Tristan felt his heart stop.

"It's not what you think it is –"

"It better not be!" Severus stood up from his seat abruptly, effectively knocking the low table in front of him. The silvery cloak flew and the contents of the box that was next to it spilled out on to the floor: a small stone pensieve, a ring with a cracked black stone, a holly wand, a golden snitch, and two vials that seemed to contain memories . Severus glared at the items furiously before switching the murderous look towards the young lord as realization dawned upon him.

"Drop your glamour!" The man snarled. Tristan bit his lip.

"Severus –"

"DROP –YOUR –BLOODY –GLAMOUR!"

"Severus –"

"Drop your glamour or I swear to Merlin I will not be responsible –"

"PLEASE! Please listen to me! This is not how I wanted you to find out," Tristan pleaded desperately. Severus took a dangerous step towards him.

"You –**think** –you could fool me for that long?" He grabbed the collar of the young lord's robes forcefully. "I always gave you the benefit of the doubt –you seemed genuine in helping me out." He pulled the man closer to him until their faces were merely inches away. "I do not know what you are playing at, but High Lord or not –magic or not, if you are in any way toying with me -" his grip tightened. Tristan suddenly found it hard to breathe.

"P-please, Severus. I swear –I swear on my –my mother's sacrifice. I mean you no harm,"

Severus stopped at that. He released the younger wizard.

"Drop your glamour and –and I will listen to whatever farce your mouth will spew,"

Tristan gave him a questioning look. The onyx-eyed man caught this and sighed.

"I will listen. I swear on the power He knows not,"

The young lord nodded.

"Sit –" he began.

"I will not –"

"Sit, please." He amended. "What I will reveal to you will take time. Please, professor,"

Severus sighed but said nothing. He reclaimed his seat. Tristan stood in front of him. In a blink, the young lord Peverell was no longer. His burgundy hair darkened to almost a jet black; the final bluish tinges in his eyes faded completely; his face rounded to a more delicate look. But apart from that, there was not much of a difference. If Severus was surprised at the minimal change, he kept it to himself. He gave the man before him a once over.

"Now, explain yourself –Potter." He tried hard to keep the venom in his voice down to a minimum, but it was more than enough to make the young man flinch –especially the use of the last name.

Tristan, or rather, Harry, stared as his former Professor.

"No threat of turning me into potions ingredients, sir?"

Severus glared.

"It isn't too late, Tris –Potter."

"Please, call me Tristan,"

"I will call you whatever I damn well please! And it will be -Potter – until you convince me to do otherwise." The Potions Master snarled. "Begin!"

Harry sighed and sat down.

"Where?"

Severus thought for a moment.

"The Final Battle. I heard you. How did you manage to speak to Death?" How were you able to bring me back –to life?"

Harry met his gaze steadily.

"I am the Master of Death. I held the three Hallows: the Invisibility Cloak, the Elder Wand, the Resurrection Stone. I commanded Death to bring you b ack."

Severus looked like he was about to let out a rather rude expletive, but he held it back. Instead, he voiced out the question at the forefront of his mind.

"Why not Black? Or Albus? Or your parents?"

Harry actually looked thoughtful for a moment before answering.

"They have moved on. When I was walking to my death, to face Voldemort, they all appeared to me –except for you. You were still hovering in this realm. The moment I defeated Him, I went back to the Shrieking Shack. Your pulse was non-existent, but your magic –I still felt your magic. Then, I saw Death –"

"A spectre? You saw and spoke to Death?"

Harry nodded.

"I pleaded. Death said that since the Stone already broke, I no longer commanded him. But – but if I could give him something else in return –"

"And you just had to bloody offer your sanity," Severus smirked. "How truly Gryffindorish –"

"Not my sanity –my fear." Harry met his eyes. "My deepest, darkest, fear."

Severus actually froze after that. He held Harry's gaze, as if trying to gauge the authenticity of that pronouncement.

"Reliving my death –is your fear?"

"Losing you," Harry amended, " is my fear."

"Preposterous," Severus said, almost to himself, not wanting to believe.

"It was nothing," Harry assured him. "I can take Dreamless Sleep for that –"

"Dreamless Sleep is addictive. You can only consume it thrice in a given week," Severus countered in his usual 'professor' voice. "Even so, you build resistance to it over time. What on earth –"

The young man shrugged.

"That was what the Silencing Charms were for,"

Severus rubbed the bridge of his aquiline nose.

"I will not… tell me," he sighed resignedly. "Tell me how you came to be the High Lord of the Bloody Wizengamot,"

Harry actually smiled at that.

"If you tell me where Nile Peverell's diary is –"

Severus scowled.

"You know – I was reading it. You planted it –"

Harry held his hands up.

"Wait, I did not plant it as you claim, sir. It appeared to you –You were drawn to it, because Nile Peverell wanted you to find it –"

"Explain."

"From what I've gathered, only the last heir of the Princes can read it. As to why –we will be moving too forward if I tell you that now."

Severus let out a frustrated sigh. He was really close to cursing someone or something, never mind the fact that he could very well not while in the Lair –at least not if he cannot manage Goblin Magic.

"Very well then. Tell me how you became the heir of Nile Peverell."

Harry rubbed the spot in his forehead where his lightning bolt scar used to be, his emerald eyes. Shinning.

"Well, the short version of it, the goblins had always known about my lineage. I was running away from The Ministry and the press after I had offed Moldyshorts. I went to Gringotts to ask them about transferring my account to untraceable muggle banks –I was planning to hide for a while, you see. When they had asked me which ones, I had no idea that I had more than one. Griphook had to do an inheritance test to determine which ones were mine… and poof! The next thing I knew, I was being introduced to Gareth. I was brought into the Lair and schooled in the ways of the nobility for seven weeks –about four years –and everything else, you could probably guess. I emerged from the time displacement room as Tristan Peverell. The falcon that was given to me, and all heirs proceeding Nile was Isolde. To keep things quiet, I had to have a new identity so I chose Tristan to match hers. The glamour was goblin-made. I did not have to change much because I grew into the look –and without the scar, it wasn't too recognizable."

"Nile's sister, Anastasia, then -" Severus began.

"She married Siegfried Potter." Harry smiled. "Their first-born, Harold, was the first non-Peverell to inherit the line. It just sort of faded into anonymity after Nile Peverell's death."

"Indeed," Severus breathed. "The last name was not mentioned in the diary,"

Harry looked surprised, but said nothing. Severus stared off into space.

"By any chance, you know how Nile Peverell looked like?"

"Gareth said he looked quite like me. I turns out that the Peverells were also known for their brilliant green eyes,"

Severus looked at Harry before closing his eyes briefly. _'That's why… in the dream…'_ he then shook his head. "Why go through all this trouble to help me?"

"I did not bring you back to life just to marry you off to the toad lady, sir."

Severus considered his reply before asking the next question.

"Why?"

Harry stiffened momentarily, but answered the older wizard nonetheless.

"I –I care for you, sir –a lot." He blushed. "Since –since fifth year."

Severus raised his eyebrows.

"You hate me, Potter."

"Frankly sir, you annoy me. But I never hated you as much as you hated me."

Severus crossed the distance to where Harry was. He rested his hand lightly on the young man's shoulder.

"You should know, than I don't – hate you, that is, Potter."

"You told Tristan," said Harry simply.

Severus removed his hand. He took a deep breath to calm himself.

"How much of Lord Peverell was made up?"

Harry held the man's obsidian gaze as he spoke.

"The name, the glamour –everything else was me –Harry Potter –or at least the man I grew up to be."

"I see," Severus looked away, feeling a small amount of his fury melt away at that admittance. "Tell me about the pact."

Harry hesitated.

"I don't think –how?"

Severus returned his gaze at him.

"The diary. It spoke of a pact between the Houses of Peverell and Prince. It described briefly, a life-debt my ancestor owed yours. But it was not clear on the condition of which it was to be fulfilled." He reclaimed his seat. "I assume it has something to do with –with this grand scheme of yours, Mr. Potter."

Harry looked alarmed. He resigned himself to swallowing whatever objection he had to speaking about the pact before continuing on.

"To fulfill the life debt, the House of Peverell shall have to claim –the Last Prince."


	14. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13 The Pact**

"Claim?" Severus clarified.

"Claim," Harry nodded. "But –"

"What of the consequences?" Severus was breathing through clenched teeth all of a sudden. He turned to the young lord with a sharp glare. "At what cost?"

Harry bit his lip.

"Severus, don't –"

"AT –WHAT- COST?" The older wizard snarled. "TELL ME!"

The emerald eyes clouded.

"Severus, I –"

"Tell me what else I should give up, Potter! Tell me how much more of myself should I lose to this stupid –"

"You won't lose anything, okay?" Harry interrupted him. It asks for your magic if you refuse, but –"

"My –magic? MY MAGIC!"

"But you won't, Severus, I won't let it happen!" Harry yelled back. "Do you not see why I am going through all of this –"

"A noble sentiment, Potter –of course you'd go through all of this farce so you could play the hero again. You and your bloody Gryffindor ancestors!"

Suddenly, Harry's eyes shone with what looked like unshed tears.

"I'll have you know that it was **your** ancestor who insisted on this pact –"

"That is because your bloody ancestor would not let him be –the melodramatic fool!"

Harry took a deep breath before running his fingers through his locks irritably.

"I don't –know –what you've read in that diary. But it was supposed to make you understand –"

"Understand what? That you Peverells were a bunch of opportunists?"

Harry felt his blood boil."Opportunists? Do you even know what that means?"

Severus glared at him. "Unlike you, Potter, I do **know**"

Harry threw his hands up in the air in a gesture of surrender. "You know what? I give! This would never work! I do not know why I even bothered. What was I thinking?"

Severus smirked and folded his arms across his chest.

"Clearly, you were not."

Harry huffed.

"You're incorrigible!"

"And you, Lord Peverell, are an imbecile."

The emerald-eyed man threw a dagger of a glare at his former Professor. "You would rather lose your magic?" The man caught his piercing stare and countered with one of his own.

"No. You will release me from this pact at once!"

That pronouncement was met by the widening of Harry's eyes. "You have –you have finished reading the diary?"

"What does it matter?" came the cold retort. The young Lord Peverell found himself taking another deep breath.

"I cannot release you from the pact –it is a life debt in the strictest possible sense. To break it would mean just that –my life."

Severus' face was suddenly grim.

"Then I shall find a way." He then moved to exit the room, but Harry held him back.

"Wait, are you really refusing –"

Severus stared at the hand on him before roughly pulling away. "I will not indulge your delusions of grandeur, Potter. Now leave me be!"

Harry refused to budge however and latched on another grip onto the seething Potions Master.

"In my dream –I meant what I said." He said quietly, his brilliant green eyes staring at the ground "I meant it."

Severus' eyes widened momentarily, but he quickly schooled his face into neutrality. "That I am a git?" He challenged. The young man shook his head and looked up. His eyes had a rather determined glint in them.

"No –that I love you." He whispered almost to himself. "As much as Nile loved Euphrates. Probably even more." His gaze then dropped once more. "I know it's quite hard to believe, but…"

Severus stiffened before making a move of pulling his hand away from Harry's grasp.

"You do not know what you are talking about." He then to a step away from the younger wizard, moving towards the doorway, but the later blocked his path.

"No." Harry said firmly. "**You** do not know, Severus."

"I refuse to further involve myself in this circus, Potter. Let me go." He pushed past Harry. He was almost to the exit when Harry pulled his arm once more.

"Don't –"

Severus turned to him sharply.

"What? What do you expect, Potter? That you can just lure me into your trap lie a dumb game fowl? I do not care for this stupid lordship! I'd rather face that toad than be further in your debt! And yes, I'd rather lose my magic!" He seethed. Then, almost to himself, "When did anything ever become fair for me? Oh, that's right –NEVER!"

"Severus –"

"No, Potter! I am not using myself as a payment for a foolish life debt! I will not stoop as low as that –"

"Will you bloody shut up about the life debt for a minute?" Harry retorted heatedly. "Are you even listening to me? I said I loved you –even before this stupid pact –even before I knew about Umbridge's plan! Why won't you believe that? And this –" Harry gestured around him wildly. " –is to make it easier for you to love me back! I'm not luring you to fulfill the life debt, for crying out loud! I can just release you and die for all I care! But I wanted to –" The young man stopped. Tears then began falling from his brilliant eyes. "I wanted to see if –" He released Severus from his grip. "God, this is such a mess. I knew this you would happen. You would think that –I knew you would."

The Potions Master stood in his spot, frozen, watching the young man break down in front of him. For some reason, he felt the urge to comfort him, but his logical thinking won over his emotional impulse. He stayed rooted to that spot. Harry on the other hand, was removing the golden ankh amulet from his neck. He pressed it against an indention on the door knob behind Severus. The door creaked open.

"Go." He simply said. Severus raised his eyebrows.

"You are releasing me?"

Harry looked at him, his face impressively blank. "Yes, please go," his voice betrayed how he felt thought. "I only ask that you do not tell anyone of my identity." The obsidian-eyed man looked skeptical.

"Potter –"

"Just leave, Professor," came the dejected sigh. "Gareth will contact you before tomorrow to discuss your case before the Wizengamot. There is no cause for alarm. I will keep my word and see to it that you endure." He then settled himself on the armchair once more and closed his eyes in defeat. Harry then heard the door shut close. Then silence.

"Make me understand," a deep baritone then cut into the pregnant pause. Harry looked up from his seat. Severus Snape stood before him with a soft expression on his normally harsh features.

"I thought you had wanted to leave sir," Harry asked, trying hard to keep the hopeful awe in his voice. Severus' countenance did not change a bit.

"I did." The older wizard then knelt in front of the younger one. His sharp onyx eyes glanced once at the overturned table before shifting his gaze towards the scattered objects on the floor next to it. His eyes finally rested on the pensieve and the two glass vials. He turned back to Harry.

"Are those yours? The memories I mean?"

Harry followed his gesture and sighed.

"One is mine, from the time I bargained for your life. The other –the other is Nile Peverell's… from the time he took his own life."

Severus paused.

"You mean he –"

Harry let out a soft laugh. "The melodramatic fool. He pined for Euphrates. The sentimental Hufflepuff poisoned himself with a botched-up Draught of Living Dead."

Severus cringed. "Did Euphrates –"

Harry shook his head. "He never saw Nile's memories. But he knew how much Nile loved him. And I would like to think that he had loved him back."

With a quiet nod, the Potions Master took the vials in his hands. He stared at it.

"Why did he break the proposition ritual?"

"He loved Nile," Harry answered. "But he could not accept, nor could he, for the life of him, let the love of his life go. Euphrates was a lord-apparent, an only child, the last of his line at that point in time. He would have been expected to beget an heir. If he had accepted Nile's proposal –"

"They could have not produced one." Severus finished for him, a look of contemplation crossing his face. "Then, the Male Pregnancy Potion –"

"Was his last attempt to make it up to Nile." Harry affirmed. "But Nile never knew. When Euphrates learned of Nile's reaction, he was devastated. He thought himself selfish –that he should have just rejected him, instead of breaking the ritual –"

"And you know this, because?" Severus asked. Harry smiled despite himself.

"Your ancestor left a record –a vial of his memories, to be exact. It was accessible only to the heir of the Peverells."

"It seemed that our ancestors thought alike." The older wizard mused. Harry laughed softly.

"Your ancestor was more direct to the point. I shudder to think how awful it was reading Nile Peverell's diary if his handwriting was atrocious like mine."

"Thank Merlin it wasn't." Severus breathed. He then turned to Harry.

"Po –Harry, I mean –"

"You know, you can call me Tristan if it would make you less uncomfortable."

"I'll manage," the man said simply. "May I see these memories?"

Harry looked at the vials before letting out a deep breath.

"I don't see why not." The young lord then stood up and grabbed the pensieve. He set it on the table. The older wizard watched as he did with a calculating expression on his face.

"Po –Harry?"

"Yes?"

"I shall have an answer for your proposition –after I view the memories."

Harry raised an eyebrow before breaking into a relived smile.

"I await your return then,"

**0101010101010101010101010101 01010101010**

_**(Harry's memory)**_

_A young man was almost out of breath when he reached the Shrieking Shack. His emerald eyes frantically searched in the dark._

"_Merlin, please, don't let me be too late!"_

_When he had found the man's body where he had left it earlier, he breathed a sigh of relief. The man no longer stirred, but he felt the familiar magical core pulse. The emerald-eyed young man approached, but his path was then blocked by a specter. The young man's eyes widened._

"_No, Merlin, NO! Leave him alone!" The man pushed past the specter and used his body to shield the fallen figure on the dusty floor. The dark specter turned to him._

"_Harry Potter, Master of Death, clear the path. I have come to take this marked one into the next realm."_

_Harry shook his head frantically._

"_No, you can't take him! I command you Death!" He then glanced at the man behind him. "You can't die, you git! You hear me! Not now! You just can't leave me –I –I love you! You can't leave me!"_

_Death smiled at the scene._

"_You can no longer command me to bring him back to life as you have broken the Resurrection Stone –"_

_Harry's eyes widened._

"_But –No! You can't –you can't do that, please! Please, let him live! He deserves to live! I'll do anything, please, just let him live!"_

_Death actually chuckled._

"_I can give you a chance, young Harry. Your path of destruction gave me more souls than I can ferry in a given day. Tell me, what would you offer in exchange for this marked one's soul?"_

_Harry stared at the unconscious man that lay beside him. In a split-second, a decision was made in his mind, He then turned to Death._

"_My own. Take mine. I should have died anyway, not him."_

_Death laughed._

"_You know that I cannot, Master. You still have and control two of the Hallows… However, what do you say to reliving this day in your dreams until your time comes? You fear for this marked one's death is more than enough to purchase back his soul."_

"_I will dream of this day –every night –in my sleep? Until I die?"_

_Death nodded. Harry bit his lips before nodding determinedly._

"_Do it. Bring him back," said the emerald-eyes savior without missing a beat. "I love him. I will not let him die. It is a small price to pay in exchange for this man's life. Bring him back, Death."_

"_Very well," said Death. "But you must see to his mortal body. I will release his soul, but if his body gives in –I will no longer be at fault."_

**0101010101010101010101010101 01010101010**

_**(Nile Peverell's memory)**_

_A seemingly older version of Harry Potter sat in the middle of a huge four-poster bed. He donned regal robes of royal blue, decorated with his family crest. On one hand, he held a green leather bound journal –on the other, a small vial of pale pink liquid. He then turned to an invisible person and spoke._

"_My heir, if you are viewing this, then it is time. I am not proud of this avenue I am about to take but, it is in my greatest hope that you understand. Euphrates Prince had been the love of my life I gave up all that I could for him unashamedly in hopes that he only return my love._

_Fate and circumstances have been hard on us._

_I only ask of you one thing: let him know how much I cared for him. I regret nothing, nor do I blame him. Ask him to forgive me for leaving him like this and tell him that I hope that he and his descendants live on in happiness and peace._

_If his heir shall consent, let them view this memory. I firmly hope that this and my written journal which I will be leaving for the Last Prince, help them realize the truth behind the pact. The pact between the Houses of Peverell and Prince was made our of honor, value for life, and lastly, but certainly not the least, love._

_I fervently hope that you both find it in each other, or at least learn to respect one another for this sake. My soul would find peace knowing that someday there would be a chance that my line and Euphrates' would be joined as they should have._

_May the goddesses be with you, always."_

_Nile Peverell then opened the vial he was holding and took a sip._

_Then, all was black._


	15. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14 Over**

Severus stepped out of the memory.

"That was –enlightening." He glanced behind him where one Harry James Potter, aka Tristan Peverell stood, waiting. The young man had a longing look on his handsome features.

"I trust that you were able to view both?"

The Potions Master nodded.

"I apologize for putting blame on your ancestor, Lord Peverell. It is clear that he was merely –"

"A bloody imbecile?" Harry supplied.

"I was actually going to say 'a man deeply in love' but your wording seems to be more accurate." Severus smiled lightly. "The foolish things people do –"

Harry cleared his throat loudly.

"I don't mean to –you know –but –"

Severus raised an eyebrow.

"I will remain under your care and tutelage to the noble ways. I will accept and enact the Lordship of the House of Prince –and use it to rid the Ministry of vermin and amphibians –"

Harry frowned.

"But –"

"Let me finish, Potter," Severus growled. "For one, I still think you are inane. Lord Peverel or not, you are an idiotic, brash Gryffindor –"

"You are so not writing my epitaph," The younger wizard muttered darkly. The onyx-eyed man pretended not to hear him. " –But you are not hopeless. And contrary to popular belief, I do have a heart. I will not all of a sudden be accepting of you, but if you try hard enough, I do not see why I cannot go easy on you. You after all, are not completely repulsive –and I may have already harbored a rather uncomfortable yet sincere attraction to your being since your fifth year. If you give me time to sort out my feelings, I will be amenable into considering this pact on my own volition."

Harry looked bemused. "Erm –"

Severus took one look at the conflicted expression on his former student's face and pinched the bridge of his Roman nose.

"For Circe's sake, Potter! Do I really have to spell it out for you? What I meant to say, for the benefit of your rather basic mind, is YES! I am considering your proposition. I cannot say that I feel the same way as you do yet, but if you give me room and time, I am willing to make it work –you are not hard to like after all! Merlin!"

To Severus' surprise though, Harry laughed.

"I knew that. I just wanted you to say it"

The older wizard looked murderous. "Why you –brat!"

"Git!" Harry continued to laugh, his emerald eyes shining. He then held his hand out all of a sudden. "My name is Lord Harry James Tristan Peverell Potter Black. A pleasure to be making your acquaintance."

Severus stared at the proffered hand before sighing. He took it. "Severus Tobias Snape, apparently, Lord Prince. The pleasure is mine."

Harry grinned. Severus rolled his eyes.

"You have quite a long name, and –Black?" He clarified. The young man nodded.

"Sirius left me the Black Lordship." His eyes suddenly lit up. "Pop-quiz, Severus. How many votes does my seat in Wizengamot have?"

The Potions Master frowned thoughtfully.

"Peverell holds the Gryffindor seat as well as the Potter seat… six –seven –nine. Black holds the Slytherin-Gaunt seat as well –eight. All in all –Merlin! Seventeen! Do you know how –"

"Ah, I taught you well, Lord Prince." Lord Peverell smirked. Lord Prince shrugged.

"Never mind that. Do you know how much political power 17 votes translate to?"

Harry sighed.

"As long as it is enough to rid the Ministry of Sludge and Umbitch." The statement was met by a questioning look from the lord-in-training.

"Sludge and Umbitch?" Severus clarified. Harry grinned.

"Moldyshorts, Sludge and Umbitch… sounds like pretty nice evil comic book villains to me, don't you think?" The ebony-haired man rolled his eyes exasperatedly.

"As long as you do not start calling yourself Lightning Bolt or Wonder Boy or something to that effect."

"Nah –I'm okay with being just Harry." The young man glanced at the clock to his right. "Breakfast?" Severus followed his line of sight.

"Already?" Harry nodded.

"Anyway, I need to speak to Gareth about us."

"Indeed?"

"Well, I did not expect for you to –to find out this soon,"

"Expect or hope?" Severus asked him with a smirk. "Because you aren't exactly subtle, Mr. Potter. One would think you intended for me to find out about your secret on my own."

Harry flushed.

"Hoped, I guess. And I did hope that you would figure it out on your own –"

"And ease the burden n your conscience for fooling me? How un-Gryffindorish of you, Harry. My, what would Godric say?"

The young man shrugged.

"He's daft, so he can't talk. And I'm also part-Slytherin, you know."

"Hmm," The Potions Master did not look convinced. Harry rolled his eyes.

"When did you start doubting my identity anyway?"

Severus grinned.

"The first time you blushed."

**0101010101010101010101010101 010101010**

Gareth smiled as he entered the Lair.

"Lord Prince," he bowed to Severus. "Lord Potter Black Peverell Gryffindor Slytherin Gaunt," he turned to Harry who reddened. Severus laughed.

"I don't envy you somehow," he told the young lord matter-of-factly. "Imagine all the documents that you need to sign in your official capacity."

"Ha-ha, very funny Severus. If you used your official title, you wouldn't be so happy yourself." The emerald-eyed man then turned to Gareth with a glare. "Tell him." Gareth smirked.

"Of course, Lord Snape Prince Ravenclaw Cresswell –"

Severus paled.

"All those? Bloody –"

It was Harry's turn to laugh. "Worry not, you can just stamp your full signature if you're afraid of getting cramps from signing it." He then addressed Gareth once more.

"We will deviate from our initial plans. Lord Prince here is willing to go with our intentions."

Gareth nodded. "He knows of the pact?"

Severus confirmed it. The head goblin liaison smiled as he spoke to his High Lord. "I did advise you that he would be forthcoming, given enough explanation and persuasion. Lord Prince is a wise and reasonable man."

Harry rolled his eyes at the goblin before glancing at Severus.

"That, I believe, is Gobbledegook for 'I told you so.'" He then turned back to Gareth. "I was terrified of the man, Gareth, okay? We're talking about Severus Snape here –the most fearsome Professor Hogwarts has ever seen since Salazar Slytherin himself. Never mind the fact that he can turn you into Potions ingredients."

Gareth grinned.

"Now I see why you had to stun him –"

At the same time, the two wizards spoke:

"Stunned!" Severus yelled.

"Gareth!" Harry bellowed. "I told you to never mention that!"

"Indeed," The former Death Eater smirked. "Wait until I can use my wand again, Potter. That was you who disabled me so rudely when I had arrived here? I will show you why people fear me –"

"See?" Harry worriedly addressed Gareth, his face paling drastically at the utterance of his former teacher. "I told you he was lethal." The goblin laughed good-naturedly.

"I do not think Lord Prince would actually kill you, Lord Peverell."

"Oh no, my good goblin," Severus smiled evilly. "There are a lot of better ways to get back at Potter here. Death is a lame option."

All the color drained from Harry's face. He looked at his right-hand goblin and dead-panned.

"Gareth, you're fired."

And the goblin roared with laughter.


	16. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15 Out**

"Since we were at the subject of official titles earlier, I figured we resume our lessons on Noble Customs." Harry began after Gareth left to get started on the details of Severus' Lordship ceremony to be held on winter break –which was the more pressing matter to them now on top of the Pact (and assuring that the Lord-in-Training was indeed not to kill or maim –yet –the High Lord Of Wizengamot). It was a couple of hours after breakfast.

"Do enlighten ne," Severus took his customary seat in the living area. Tea was set out on the low table. He glanced at Harry. It was still unnerving to see the former Boy-Who-Lived in place of Tristan Peverell, but he kept reminding himself that the only difference was how they had looked. And even in that arena, it was not much of a difference.

He knew he should be alarmed, agitated, enraged, betrayed even –but he wasn't.

'_I'm losing my right mind,'_ Severus thought. _'Not only did I agree to Potter's hare-brained scheme of world domination, but I also as good as promised myself to him… again, not that I mind –the brat isn't so bad –okay, I may like him just a bit… maybe more –argh! Merlin help me. Coming back to life had certainly addled my brains!'_ The Potions Master sighed inwardly as he thought of his second chance at life. _'Potter either __**loves**__ me that much or he is a closet masochist.'_

"Severus? Are you listening?" The presumed closet masochist (or was it sadist?) was snapping his fingers inches away from Severus' face. The obsidian-eyed man snatched the young Lord's hand.

"Quit that Potter."

"I would, if you were paying attention." Harry sighed. "As I was saying, a Lord's official title is arranged in such manner: Given name, Primary House name, then any compounded or merged House names by order of importance, then of acquisition date…

Severus nodded absent-mindedly as he stared at his tutor.

'_Okay, I'll admit it. I –care –for him. And he isn't so bad-looking. He is way younger, but what difference is twenty –no, sixteen no –years if we both live up to 150? Merlin's beard! Are you listening to yourself Severus? You are justifying having a relationship with Potter! Gah! You should hit your head on something really hard before you start fantasizing about him. Hmm… I wonder if he is a good kisser... BLOODY –Shut the fuck up, Snape!'_

"SEV- ER –US! Merlin! Where has your bloody brain gone to?" Harry was saying. Severus stopped berating his inner voice and stared at the young lord. Harry's eyes were sparkling, his face was tensed in concentration, and his lips –his full red lips were slightly parted in exasperation. Suddenly the room was too small, too warm for Severus.

'_Argh, SCREW IT!'_ The onyx-eyed man heard his mind say, just before he found himself –kissing Harry… kissing Harry bloody Potter full on the lips!

'_Merlin Severus –WHAT THE HELL?'_ Suffice to say, Severus had little difficulty tuning his annoying conscience out as he felt the young man's soft lips on his. Harry stiffened initially with surprise, but not any longer. He eventually relaxed in the elder wizard's grasp on the collar of his robes.

The kiss started rather awkwardly, slow and chaste-as both were still trying to get a feel of the other. Harry's limited snogging experience showed, but Severus' enthusiasm was more than enough to make up for it. The older wizard quickly asserted dominance as he began to slip in his tongue eagerly inside the younger man's welcoming mouth. The heated cavern welcomed his exploration graciously, and soon, Harry's own tongue was waging a war with his own. Severus delved deeper and was rewarded by a soft mewl coming from the younger man –the sound of which, only fueled the Slytherin's own burning desire. He pulled the Gryffindor closer to him as a low growl worthy of a Lion formed in his throat. Harry moaned in response and Severus felt the need for air coming up. He pulled away from the young lord. Harry's flushed face was priceless.

"Uh, Severus? What was –what was –"

The Potions Master smirked.

"What were you saying about official titles again, Harry?"

**0101010101010101010101010101 010101010**

The rest of their month inside the Lair was spent among lessons, preparations, flirtations, more lessons, more preparations, and more flirtations between the two noble lords. That first kiss was definitely not the last of its kind, but nothing ever came further than it; For one, the young Lord Peverell was still wary to rush things with his apple-of-the-eye, lest the older wizard take back his acceptance of a possibility of something developing between them -Harry never initiated anything, period. On the other hand, the more experienced Lord Prince considered himself a certain type of a traditionalist –Severus knew that Harry had next to nothing when it came to experiences regarding relationships. Loath he was to admit, he was quickly falling hard for the Gryffindor's ridiculously amusing and sometimes endearingly annoying antics, but he was wary to let it get too far. The farthest he could allow it was a few heated kisses (all, initiated by him as Harry was either too shy to do so, or just plain terrified of what he'd do if the young man stepped out of bounds), before he totally lost his right mind and claim the High Lord truly. And besides, there was still the discussion of the Pact. The two decided that the priority went to getting Severus out of the clutches of the Ministry. Until the Pact was dissected and clarified, Severus did not want anything to progress further than what they already had for the moment. He was just beginning to really enjoy Harry's company; he did not want to mess with it.

Soon it was time to go out. It was the last day for the two noblemen inside the Lair –the afternoon of July 31st - and Gareth was right outside to meet them.

Severus was the first to step through, clad in deep green silk robes. With the Prince Crest on his left breast pocket, he looked every inch of the lord that he was meant to be. He had a calm look on his face. He nodded to Gareth.

"Lord Prince," Gareth greeted him first, following protocol; A lord never verbally acknowledges someone of lower stature first.

"Gareth, everything is well, I hope?"

"Yes my Lord. The invitations have been sent out." Gareth smiled. Severus then stepped aside as Harry himself stepped through the threshold next. The young lord was in his customary royal blue Peverell robes. He had the golden ankh around his neck.

"Lord Peverell," Gareth intoned politely. "Happy Birthday." Harry nodded and smiled at his right-hand goblin.

"Thank you, Gareth. Are we ready to take over the Ministry?"

The goblin smirked. He held out a small hourglass for the two wizards to see.

"Two turns should do the trick, my Lords."

Harry turned to Severus.

"I'm putting my glamour on, Sev. Would you like me to do yours?" The onyx-eyed man shook his head.

"Looking like this… it is enough for those simpletons not to recognize me."

"Suit yourself." Harry then blinked once, and blue-green –eyed Tristan Peverell was back. Severus eyed him with an eyebrow raised before smirking evilly.

"Now that you are back, that reminds me of a debt we have yet to settle –OPPUGNO!"

A multitude of birds –robins, canaries, blue jays –began attacking Tristan.

"Ow –Severus! Quit it! You're so petty!"

"What was that, Tristan? I think I just heard you pronounce me as petty –OPPUGNO!"

More birds appeared this time. Bigger ones.

"Ow! Fine!" Tristan gave up swatting the birds away from him as he took cover behind a nearby alcove, Gareth looking on with controlled amusement in his eyes. "Sev! I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry for stunning you! Now quit it or we'll be late!"

Severus smiled smugly.

"Finite Incantatum." The onslaught of birds ceased. Tristan sighed as he felt his body for damage.

"At least I'm still in one piece."

Severus snorted.

"It is technically your birthday today anyway, and we cannot go around dismembering the High Lord on his birthday now, can we?"

Tristan rolled his eyes.

"I suppose you, sparing my life is my first ever present coming from you then?"

"Of course." The man smirked. "Not that I intend to give you any other anyway." He dead panned before reaching into his robes and shoving a small wrapped package into the younger man's hands. The High Lord blinked.

"For me?" Tristan blushed as he inspected the parcel. "You shouldn't have, Severus." To which, the onyx-eyed man rolled his eyes.

"Really, Potter. It's not that much. Before you shower me with eternal gratitude, at least open it."

"Very well," Tristan tore the wrapper open and removed the cover of the box. He glanced at the contents. Inside was a small vial filled with a luminescent light blue liquid. The label on it read: Permanent Sight-Correcting Potion.

"Severus, it's –it's –" Tristan rushed forward and enveloped the older man in a tight hug. Severus smiled genuinely at the young man's antics.

"It was the least I could do. Gareth helped me with the ingredients."

"Thank you both," was all that Tristan could say as he stared at the thoughtful present in his hand. Severus nodded and grabbed the Time-Turner from Gareth. He then tapped it with his wand. The gold chain that held it elongated –long enough to go around the two wizards and the goblin. He then turned to Tristan.

"You can thank me properly later. Right now drink that up so you can remove that faulty spell you have been using for your eyes. We still have a corrupt bureaucracy to overturn."

Tristan smirked and gulped down the Potion. The effect was instantaneous.

"Let's get to it!" He said happily. The gold chain was wrapped around the three, and two turns of the hourglass later, they were gone.

**0101010101010101010101010101 010101010**

While our heroes were traveling back in time, a dozen falcons were busy delivering their burdens to some of the most powerful and influential in Wizarding Britain. The missive was placed in a sealed envelope, bearing a crest that no one seemed to recognize. Once they opened it however, it was clear from who the urgent summons was.

Madam Amelia Liliana Bones, Head of the DMLE, received her letter as she was heading out for lunch. The falcon, she eyed curiously, as she had inspected the delivery for any curse or jinx. When she had found none, she relieved the unusual courier of its burden. The wax seal on the back flap of the envelope was given a considerable thought before being broken, and the solitary sheet of parchment contained within, pulled out. The mysterious insignia was once more repeated on the top of the page, the bronze doe's emerald eyes glittering in the light. Amelia Bones scanned the piece of paper. The message was short, and after the felicitations, similar to eight others. It read:

**Madam Amelia Liliana Bones**

**Head, DMLE MoM London**

**Head, The Ancient and Most Noble House of Bones**

**July 31, 1998**

**Dear Lady Bones –Rivers –Devonshire:**

**Your appearance in your capacity as the Head of you House and a Member of the Wizengamot's Ruling Court is requested at 14:00 hr at the Ministry of Magic Grand Ballroom today.**

**Should you need assistance on getting ready, tap the parchment once and a trained house elf will appear. ONcve you are ready to arrive at the venue, hold the parchment and say the trigger word "takeover" –it will act as a secure portkey.**

**Signed,**

**The High Lord Of Wizengamot**

The normally collected woman's eyes widened. _'It couldn't be!'_ She stole another glance at the Seal on the parchment, then at the signature at the bottom. What was the possibility of it being a joke?

Lady Bones had to make a decision. If this was indeed an official summons from the legendary High Lord of Wizengamot, she needed no telling twice; it was a matter of great importance. She checked her pocket watch –she had barely two hours to get ready!

"Verity,"

"Madam Bones?"

"Cancel all my appointments after lunch –"

"But Madam, the hearing on Courtroom 10 –"

"Cancel it." Madam Bones said firmly. The girl had no choice but to nod. The DMLE head sighed and moved towards the Floo. She needed to locate her formal robes and be presentable for the High Lord in less than two hours.

**0101010101010101010101010101 010101010**

A similar falcon, bearing an equally similar missive had landed in the kitchen of the Burrow, where now, a family meeting was being held. The current Head of the Weasley Family, Arthur, was arguing with his eldest, Bill –or as the missive now deems him –Lord William Arthur Weasley Prewitt McKinnon.

"Bill, I'm not sayingthat this is a hoax. I know your mother is very happy that their line would continue with you. But all I am saying is that should you not be wary of this High Lord? From what I know, his seat has not been claimed for almost 200 years. I mean, why come out all of a sudden?"

"Dad, I told you. The High Lord has seen to the restoration of the House of Prewitt. He has even sent his goblin liaison to attend to my training in the noble ways. He wants to reclaim his seat to restore the Ministry and the Wizengamot to its former glory. And if that is the case, I will support him all the way. A lot needs to be done to rebuild Wizarding Britain after the war. And if we leave it to Fudge and Umbridge, who knows what catastrophe will take place? The High Lord is a good man. I have not seen him personally, but I trust him. Goblins to do not trust lightly. And if they support this man, then it is in our best interests that we back him up too –I am going to this Ministry function as it is my duty. And so should everyone else. Your presence as my family was requested."

Arthur sighed. His eldest was right.

"Very well, I will trust your judgment son. I will tell your mother to prepare your formal court robes –it belonged to your Uncle Gideon once –"

Bill waved him off.

"No need, Dad. The goblin who trained me wad presented me with one from the Prewitt Vault. I already have it –"

"Is it true? Bill –you're a Wizarding Lord now? And we're going to attend a baal?"

"Oh shut up, Ronald –"

"That's not –"

"How you address –"

"A noble lord!" Identical redheads bowed deeply. Bill smiled at his brothers.

"Yes Ron, I am. And we are, as Dad allowed you guys to." He turned to Fred and George and nodded curtly as the rest of the family came in. Molly was in tears.

"Oh Bill –thank Merlin!" She enveloped her eldest son in a bone-crushing hug.

"Better you than me, brother," Charlie smirked. Bill chuckled. Ginny approached with a smile.

"Looking good, William."

"Thank you Ginevra." The young Lord Prewitt looked around. "Well, I don't want to be rude, but we all have a function to attend in less than two hours! Let's get going!"

**0101010101010101010101010101 010101010**

Another falcon was on her way, but unlike the others, she was expected.

"Good Morning, Isolde. Your Master sent you?"

The large charcoal-gray falcon crowed. She landed on the woman's shoulder and dutifully extended her leg.

"Ah, a summons form the High Lord?" The woman immediately dislodged the sealed envelope. The formal look of the parchment within belied the genial note inside:

**Dear Minerva,**

**Severus and I would appreciate your and your Staff's attendance at the Ministry Function later today at 2:00 p.m. at the Grand Ballroom. Dress code would be formal, and please make sure that Remus comes. Please tap the parchment and say "Hogwarts is my home" to activate the portkey once you are all ready. A goblin attendant will be waiting for your arrival by the entrance. See you there!**

**-H**

**P.S. As you can probably tell, no, he has not attempted to kill me yet even if he already knows of my identity. He is just not too pleased that you knew before he did and he had already hexed me for it. And oh, I know about your deal with him. I will see to it that he is provided with enough pink robes to last the term.**

Minerva McGonagall smiled and sighed. She turned to the bird.

"It is a most wondrous event, Isolde. Bar the fact that Severus has come around, he and Harry managed a day in close proximity without killing each other!"

Isolde crowed once more as she watched the merry Headmistress of Hogwarts hum all the way to her personal quarters.

**0101010101010101010101010101 010101010**

The main floo in the Malfoy Summer House in France flared to life. A young platinum-blonde young man stepped out, looking quite agitated.

"Father! An urgent missive!"

Lucius Malfoy, exiled ex-Death Eater and spy for the light rushed towards the commotion.

"What on earth is the matter, Draco? Why are you running like an uneducated scoundrel?"

Draco Malfoy caught his breath as he handed his father an envelope.

"This came –through –falcon –"

The elder Malfoy raised one elegant eyebrow.

"A falcon, you say?"

"Yes. It was addressed to us both. There –there is a seal Father, but I do not recognize it."

Lucius tuned his son out as he scanned the parchment handed to him. A few minutes later, the man's eyes were wide. He thrust the parchment back to Draco who frowned.

"You know anything about this, sir?"

Luscius dismissed the question with a wave of his hand.

"No time for questions, Draco. We need to prepare –"

"We are going back to England? But the Ministry –"

"This is more important than the Ministry, Draco! The High Lord of Wizengamot requests our presence –"

"So this –this is real? But I thought that the High Lord was but a legend!" The young Malfoy's eyes were wide. His father glared at him.

"Do you not remember a thing I taught you about the nobility? Look at that Crest –that only appears on missives sent by the High Lord himself –or at least his liaison. Now stop this incessant questioning and don your formal heirship robes. You will be accompanying me to the Ministry. The High requests your presence as well as mine. We need not worry about the exile order. This letter grants us reprieve until the High Lord says otherwise."


	17. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16 The Grand Ballroom**

Meanwhile, as the High Lord's falcons were busy shocking and or, agitating the who's who in the country, the Grand Ballroom in the Ministry's fifth level was in frenzy. Since six in the morning, no human was able to get in. No one was able to get past the heavy bronze doors.

Inside however, was filled with hundreds of house elves, all attired in wither pristine white togas, or smart-looking black tail-coat like apparel. On their left breast was the familiar bronze doe crest. Each and every one was busy with a task. This quiet and organized chaos was being comandeered by a small army of goblins, all similarly dressed in crimson robes lined with gold. They too, carried the same crest on their clothes as the elves.

A particular goblin named Gorbink was busy with checking the guest list. The affair was private, so he needed to weed out the gatecrashers as they come by. The guests were coded in three: red for the personal friends of the High Lord; the Lords and Ladies of Wizengamot were in blue; the Ministry Officials were in Yellow. Gorbink was especially ordered by his superiors to monitor the names in blue as the event was an important formal gathering for the High Lord and his Court. Proper protocol must be followed at all times. While Gorbink was conversing with another sentry, an older-looking goblin appeared behind him.

"Gorbink, how is everything?"

"Coming along smoothly, sir Gareth." Gorbink nodded. I do have a question though.

"Ask away, my good goblin."

"I was asked to assign goblin escorts for the personal friends of the High Lord asnd the esteemed Lords and Ladies -but there seems to be no order to provide for the current Minister of Magic, his Deputy and the Chief of Wizengamot -"

"I assure you it is not an oversight, Gorbink," Gareth smiled, eyeing the massive place which was now filled with white calla lilies and red winter roses in elegant glass urns, floating votive candles and royal blue and deep green silk draperies hanging from the ceiling, and numerous large round tables -each seating about a dozen. He turned to the lead sentry. "It is not an over sight, but a forewarning," he concluded cryptically.

**0101010101010101010101010101 01010101010**

Once the clock struck two, the dozen anterooms on one side of the Grand Ballroom became busy. Each portkey letter went off on time, but arrivals must still be timed and organized, and in cases of those in code blue, announced.

The first portkey to go off was that of the Hogwarts contingent. They were assigned anteroom #6. The goblin escort for them was Ivan Longsword. He smiled politely as he welcomed the group.

"Welcome Headmistress and Professors of Hogwarts, I am Ivan your escort."

Headmistress McGonagall, who was wearing robes of plum nodded back politely.

"Thank you, Ivan it is a pleasure to be here." The goblin nodded.

"I would need to check for your names before you are ushered into the ballroom.

"Certainly," Minerva McGonagall stepped back and allowed Ivan to survey her delegation. Aside from the Headmistress, those who came were Aurora Sinistra, Astronomy Professor and new Head of Ravenclaw House, Rebeus Hagrid, Care of Magical Creatures, who was wearing his horrible brown suit, Pomona Sprout, Septima Vector, new Head of Slytherin and Arithmancy Proferssor and Remus Lupin, returning DADA Professor and new Head of Gryffindor House. The goblin looked pleased at those who were present. He turned to the Headmistress.

"Very well Madam, I shall ask for my assistant Cormwall to lead you to the main ballroom. I need Professor Remus Lupin to remain."

The werewolf raised an eyebrow. He knew of the current Ministry's views on werewolves, especially after Umbridge made Chief of Wizengamot. But he had expected the goblins to be more reasonable –truly, he did not believe Minerva when she had hastily explained to them about the Ministry Ball and that they were all to attend in two hours –no questions asked. He did not even outrightly believe even more when she mentioned that the legendary High Lord of WIzengamot was their host –but surely, if the High Lord had anything against werewolves, should he not have been invited in the first place? The amber-eyed man turned to Minerva. To his surprise, the formidable witch was smiling.

"Ah yes. The High Lord did mention Remus in his invite." She turned to her Head of Gryffindor House. "Worry not, the High Lord thinks fondly of you," she said with a wink before ushering the rest of their group out of the room. Remus stood alone, confused, until Ivan addressed him with a bow. The goblin handed him a box.

"Please call for me when you are ready. I will be outside to escort you to the ballroom once you are done." Without another word, Ivan left. Remus eyed the box in his hands. A note was taped to it.

**You look good with Black –but for now, would you do me the honors of wearing my eye color?**

The werewolf frowned as he set aside the cryptic note. He opened the box carefully and gasped at what he saw.

A set of formal robes in the most brilliant shade of emerald green was ensconced inside the plain-looking box. Remus touched it gently and the silk felt like liquid glass in his fingers. He pulled it out. Another note fell from it.

**Don't even think about not wearing the robes, Moony. If you try to leave this room in your old robes, let's just say that it would not be my fault if your skin turns blue all of a sudden –I am not the sole heir of the Marauders for nothing.**

**P.S. Minerva knows, but don't tell anyone yet. Not until I reveal myself –or I'd hex you. Emjoy the party.**

Remus dropped the note, his eyes wide like saucers. The High Lord requested his presence. The High Lord gifted him with these robes. The High Lord's eyes were emerald green –and he was the sole heir of the Marauders. The High Lord left this note. The High Lord was…

"Merlin!"

**0101010101010101010101010101 01010101010**

A slightly larger contingent arrived in anteroom #3. The goblin in charge was called Darcey Copperworth. He was new in his job, but he was one of the best. Darcey was proud that he was assigned to escort a Lord and his family. So when the portkey went off, depositing a bunch of redheads in his care, he was automatically on his best behavior.

"Lord Prewitt and family," he bowed deeply. "An honor, sir. My name is Darcey, your lead escort."

A redhead with long hair tied at this nape, wearing formal robes of periwinkle blue and a crest of a snow leopard and a pine tree and a six-pointed star on a deep blue background stepped forward.

"Thank you, Darcey. These are my family. Shall they be escorted too?"

Darcey nodded.

"My assistant Lumiere will usher them now into the ballroom. As per protocol, you shall remain here until it is time to announce your presence, my Lord."

The young Lord Prewitt smiled and turned to his family.

"Mom, Dad, everyone, go with the other goblin, Lumiere. He's your escort –"

"Wow, a real –"

"Live goblin sentry –"

"For an escort!" Fred and George in identical robes of lime green exchanged high fives. Arthur in black formal Ministry robes smiled slightly, as did Charlie in navy blue. Ron looked green, clashing with his scarlet robes, while Ginny giggled in violent pink robes. Molly dressed in light gold on the other hand, looked worried.

"Bill, are you sure –"

Bill smiled at his mother.

"Mom, I'd trust these goblins with my life. Don't worry, okay?"

Darcey smiled at the exchange and eyed Lord Prewitt with a renewed sense of awe and respect.

**0101010101010101010101010101 01010101010**

In the next half hour, the rest of the arrivals filled the remaining anterooms. But none was far too eventful than the arrivals of room #12.

A very cross goblin by the name of Firebreath Dragonchain was waiting on the arrival of his last-minute appointed charges. He drew the short stick so he was now stuck with the most unpleasant contingent –and he was in no way happy about it.

At half-past two, Minister Fudge, Deputy Minister Scrimgeour and Wizengamot Chief Dolores Umbridge arrived with varying scowls on their faces.

Firebreath made no move to welcome them. Instead, he charmed the exit to knock the three out cold should they dare to leave before they were supposed to. And Firebreath need not wait long. As soon as the three landed in the anteroom, the toad lady moved towards the exit, the two wizards in her wake. They did not even acknowledge the smirking goblin in their presence. As soon as the three touched the door, they were knocked out cold by goblin magic.

And they would remain to be for hours, or until the High Lord requires their sorry arses inside the ballroom.

**0101010101010101010101010101 01010101010**

In the inner chambers of the Grand Ballroom, tow wizards sat, awaiting the start of the ceremonies.

"Who do you reckon would faint sooner?" The younger of the two asked as he fidgeted with the sleeves of his royal blue robes. He spoke to the older man who was seated across him.

"My bet would be on the toad –after she realizes that her dreams of marrying me are over. How about you, Har –Tristan?"

Harry aka Tristan, smiled.

"I'd say the same, Severus. But just to get a bet rolling… Fudge –after I tell him he's sacked."

Severus raised his eyebrows.

"And pray tell, what, are we betting on. Lord Peverell?"

Tristan Peverell looked thoughtful for a while. He then shrugged.

"If I win, you'd have to kiss me, Lord Prince," he said.

"And in the event that you lose?"

"Then I'd kiss you," Tristan said simply. Severus paused for a moment before making a face.

"Some bet,"

But before Tristan could retort, a goblin appeared before them.

"Lord Peverell, Lord Prince," the goblin bowed deeply. He handed Lord Peverell a piece of parchment before excusing himself and departing. Lord Prince looked on curiously as the younger noble read. A few seconds later, the blue-green-eyed man was laughing.

"Anything I should be worried about, Tristan?" Severus asked.

Tristan turned to Severus, his eyes shining.

"Nah, just a thank you note from one flustered werewolf." He pocketed the missive and grabbed his wand. A quick 'Tempus' spell showed the time to be 2:30 p.m. He looked at the Potions Master.

"Ready to begin our sinister plan of world domination?"

Severus smirked and stood up from his seat with a mock bow directed towards his companion.

"Lead the way, oh mighty conqueror of men and hearts!"

The two most powerful wizards then made their way to the outer chambers just beyond the massive staircase of the Grand Ballroom and surveyed the area with appreciation. Gareth and his team outdid themselves. Now, it was show time.

**0101010101010101010101010101 01010101010**

Guests inside the ballroom were mingling amongst themselves, seeing familiar faces for the last half hour. As soon as the clock struck 2:30 though, the soft string rendition of muggle composer Sir Andrew Lloyd Weber's 'Masquerade' ceased, causing a hush of silence to wash over the entirety of the huge, impressive space.

A team of goblins in rich crimson and gold robes appeared by the main entrance and closed the doors. The group of spectators dutifully lined the pathway awaiting the entrance of the first distinguished guest.

They need not wait any longer.

Not a minute after the bronze doors closed, it opened yet again, permitting the first member of the elite body to be announced.


	18. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17 Power Shifts and Grand Entrances**

Cornelius Fudge liked to have power in his hands –great power was like an aphrodisiac to him. Not that he had much of it, but he prided himself in knowing how to surround himself with people that held that much power in their own hands.

First had been Dumbledore –it was easy enough, for that old coot loved his school too much. He let Cornelius run the Ministry as he worked tirelessly to keep Hogwarts out of Voldemort's clutches.

The next was the Dark Lord himself, although Fudge would never admit that even in his death bed. He held the madman's ideals in his heart. Let it be just said that had Harry Potter failed in his destiny, Cornelius would not have been much disappointed.

And now, he was standing in the thick of it all once more –both Dumbledore and Voldemort gone –he felt like a god, _'Or touched by the hand of one, more like it,_' he thought, remembering. Power never really left his side –or at least that was how he wanted to think, if only but for the two thorns in his side: Harry Potter and Severus Snape.

Fudge almost breathed a sigh of relief when the brat had been reported missing; he did not need to have the boy taking any more of his spotlight. Sure, Harry Potter's defeat of the Dark Lord was news now, but in a few years, Cornelius Fudge would make sure that it would be all forgotten. But with Potter gone missing, his plans to control and discredit the boy to his master's whims would have to take a back seat –until Potter eventually resurfaces or dies. He was hoping for the latter, the sooner the better –it would take so much less effort.

Enter Severus Snape, the only other wizard who could potentially match Potter in raw power and political clout. It had been easy to ruin the dour Potions Master's reputation, having a not-so-good one in the beginning. Given the right publicity however, Snape could be as enigmatic as Potter –a danger to Cornelius' plans for the Ministry. Good thing that the media lapped up his planted doubts and lies about the ex-Death Eater and spy for the light.

But Cornelius had to admit that even with a shady reputation, one could never deny the raw magical power Severus Snape possessed.

Enter Dolores Umbridge –another bumbling fool of a pawn. Fudge smiled to himself. It was a perfect plan. Force Severus Snape's hand, threaten him with Azkaban and coerce him to bind with Cornelius' right-hand in exchange for 'freedom'… and presto! He would have control of Snape's magic through Dolores. It was a fool-proof plan.

Or so he thought.

A vein was threatening to pop in the Minister's temple as he read the missive delivered to him, his Deputy and the Chief of Wizengamot, by three very cross-looking falcons.

What is the meaning of this?" He snarled as he threw the note onto his table:

**Cornelius Oswald Fudge**

**Soon-to-be Ex-Minister of Magic**

**London, England**

**My Dearest Fudge:**

**You have been given too much power and influence for far too long. I think it's about time you learn of the consequences of abusing your position. You and your two lackeys will show your ugly faces at the Ministry grand Ballroom at 14:00 hr today of the media will see your dirty laundry. And I'm not talking about your pals in the Prophet. I doubt the ICW will be happy to know of what you've been doing to Wizarding Britain. All I can say is that it sucks to be you right now.**

**All my love,**

**The High Lord of Wizengamot**

"The –NERVE – " Fudge turned to his Deputy. "Rufus, can you tell me of this –HOW ON EARTH could this happen? The High Lord of Wizengamot is but a legend! Who would DARE think of this crude joke?"

Scrimgeour flinched.

"Minister, this seems to be no joke… if my history serves me correctly, the seal that appears on the letters –it only shows if the missive came from the House of the High Lord."

"But how could have there been still an heir?" A lady that looked like a toad in pink shrieked. "Cornelius, this could be dangerous if it were true! What of our plans? Surely, we have to do something –The Grand –"

Fudge shot her a warning look. Scrimgeour was not privy to their plan, much more to their real master's identity and involvement.

"Dolores, I assure you that this –this clown is not going to cause a hindrance to our plans. We will go to this function and expose this pretentious scoundrel for the fake that he is!"

"But what about Snape's trial? It is set for the same time," Dolores pointed out. "We need to see to it that I get him! I was promised by the Grand –"

"We prioritize, Dolores," Fudge cut her off again. "We discredit this ponce masquerading as a nobleman and then we deal with Snape. Rufus, contact the DMLE and rest Snape's trial for tomorrow. Same time and venue."

"Yes, Minister," Scrimgeour immediately dispatched a goose patronus with the requested details before turning his attention back to his two companions. "When are we leaving for the function?"

**0101010101010101010101010101 01010**

Back at the Grand Ballroom, the bronze doors opened, revealing a regal-looking woman with gray hair done up in a French Knot. She wore robed of canary yellow, with a crest of black badger, a pine tree and a sprig of sage on a light primrose background adorning her left breast pocket. She was escorted by a nervous-looking young man in black velvet robes, bearing the same coat of arms on his back. As soon as they appeared, the head goblin announced them.

"Announcing, Lady Augusta Elmina Longbottom, Head of Houses Longbottom, Hufflepuff, Smythe and Selwyn, and her escort, Lord-Apparent Neville Francis Longbottom."

The formidable-looking woman curtsied as she was announced, leaving her escort to bow half-way himself. They were escorted to a huge oval table, front and center of the massive room. As soon as they were seated, another pair appeared by the main doors. A man wearing rich navy velvet robes that contrasted nicely against his almost silvery-white hair stood quite stiffly. The crest of an eagle, a vela and an elm tree on a lilac background that was emblazoned on his left breast pocket was echoed on the back of the black velvet robes his younger male companion wore. Both men carried themselves with an air of superiority and quiet elegance.

"Announcing, Lord Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, Heqad of Houses Malfoy, Lennox and Wilshire, and his companion, Lord-Apparent Draco Lucius Malfoy."

A couple of gasps rang out from the gathered crowd. But given the two Malfoys' role in the last war, it was more of gasps of surprise and/or relief more than anything else. No matter what the Ministry said, people knew the truth. The father and son tandem were, too, led to the oval table. As soon as they sat down, another announcement was taking place.

"Announcing Lady Ameila Liliana Bones, head of Houses Bones, Rivers and Devonshire."

A woman with startling blonde hair up in a twist and cream-colored robes could only be none other than the prominent head of the DMLE. A crest of a mare, a tiger lily and scales on a sea foam background adorned her formal clothes. She smiled, seeing familiar faces and gave a wave as she was led to her place nest to Lady Longbottom.

A lone handsome young man with red hair stood by the entrance, looking quite nervous but pleased. As soon as he had made his appearance, a couple of whispers and catcalls erupted from the crowd.

"Announcing, Lord William Arthur Weasley-Prewitt, Head of Houses Prewitt and McKinnon."

"All right, Bill!" A couple of identical redheads whistled, drawing uneasy laughter from the gathred crowd and a deep blush from the Lord in question as he was led away to the prepared table.

The same type (although with much less fanfare) of announcements had been made for the five other nobles attending the ceremony: young Lord Roger Timothy Davies of Houses Davies and Elsmere in his maroon dress robes, tall and balding Lord Geoffrey Michael Greengrass of Houses Greengrass and Lowe in formal robes of sage, genial-looking Lord Percival Gawain Abbot of Houses Abbot and Sutton in scarlet, stern-faced Lord Arnold Lancelot Parkinson of the Houses Parkinson, McLeod and Sparrow in mauve and mild-mannered Lord Andrew Perseus Boot, of Houses Boot and Jones in lavender silk.

When all announcements have been cleared, the nine ruling lords and ladies sat in what looked like a ceremonial oval table facing the astonished crowd. The room now held power like it had never done before –and their mysterious host had yet to make an appearance, still. But, they need not wait too long. An elder goblin, in rich gold and crimson robes stood in the very middle of the ballroom.

"Greetings my esteemed Lords and Ladies and guests. I am Gareth Ironfist, Head Liaison to your Host, the High Lord of Wizengamot."

As soon as the last words left the goblin's lips, the bronze doors opened yet again. The curious crowd turned to face the entrance with varying degrees of awed expressions on their faces. Even the Lords and Ladies who were present stood in silent anticipation.

And there, by the majestic entrance stood –not one, but two men. Surprised gasps erupted from among the gathered as they took the men's appearances in: A taller man with long ebony hair tied by his nape wore a deep green –it was almost black – silk robe emblazoned with the crest of a falcon, a silver sword and a single red winter rose on a forest green background. He had a calculated expression on his face. The man to his right on the other hand, wore an easy smile on his young and handsome face. He was wearing robes of rich, royal blue, nicely contrasting with his burgundy hair, with the now too-familiar bronze doe crest on his left breast pocket. His blue-green eyes shone with what was perceived to be amusement. Both men seemed to exude great raw power and commanding presences.

"Announcing High Lord Tristan Peverell, Head of Houses Peverell and Gryffindor, Governor of Houses Slytherin and Black –"

The younger man waved jovially. More gasps ensued from the crowd. But nothing compared to the ruckus that the next announcement had caused.

"Announcing, Lord Severus Tobias Snape, Lord Prince, Head of Houses Prince, Ravenclaw and Cresswell –"

"Snape? Did he say –"

"NOT Professor Snape, is he?"

"Who ELSE would go by THAT name?"

"He does NOT look one bit like the man –"

Next to Lord Peverell, Lord Prince scowled. The younger noble smirked.

"You were right, Sev. They did not recognize you looking like that."

"And your goblins just had to announce my name!" The older man snarled. Lord Peverell smiled at him.

"It's not like you're the one with anything to hide. Just look at it this way –if they know who you are, the less likely they are to guess my real identity."

"Indeed. Who would think?" Lord Prince, aka Severus, smirked as they were being led to their places in the oval table. On his way there, he caught the eye of one Minerva McGonagall, who smiled at him clutching a flimsy handkerchief, looking to be on the verge of tears. Severus rolled his eyes as he nudged the man to his right. Lord Peverell followed his line of sight and waved back to the formidable Headmistress, who by then, was positively bawling. Severus sighed to Lord Peverell, aka Tristan.

"You have made it worse."

Tristan only nodded in response as he and Severus took their places on the oval table. The esteemed Lords and Ladies of Wizengamot were still standing in attention as per protocol, and only when Tristan took his seat did they reclaim theirs, Severus included. No one made a sound as guests setteled in their places as well. When everyone was seated though, Gareth spoke once more.

"We are gathered here today for a most wondrous occasion. But our most esteemed High Lord sees it fit that the feast that has been prepared be partaken before the announcements are made. Without further ado, enjoy!"

Lavish food and drinks fit for afternoon High Tea appeared on the tables –and then some. Music began to play again as the guests helped themselves to the feast. On the High Lord's table however, food was not at all given any attention. Gathered there were the most powerful and influential in the land, and when you have that kind of group assembled, food would be the last thing on anybody's minds.

"I would like to personally welcome you back to civilization, Lord Peverell," it was Lady Longbottom who drew first blood. "From the Houses of Longbottom, Hufflepuff, Smythe and Selwyn." Lord Peverell smiled at her.

"Thank you, Lady Longbottom. My return is about two centuries in the making."

"I assume you are reclaiming your seat, my Lord?" It was Lucius Malfoy. Lord Peverell smirked at him.

"Always direct to the point, aren't we, Lord Malfoy?" When the pale man reddened slightly, the High Lord let out an easy laugh before continuing. "Answer me, would I go through all the trouble of hosting a last-minute banquet just to say hello? I reckon I'm too young to be senile." The Lords and Ladies turned to each other with looks of astonishment on their faces. This was history in the making and they were sitting with the man of the hour. Lord Peverell eyed his court and sighed.

"If any of you are against this, say so now. I would rather proceed without any of you dragging me behind." When no one dared to speak up, the High Lord nodded. "Very well then, I thank you for your support. I was really hoping that you'd all be sick and tired of your soon-to-be ex-minister and his lackeys –"

"You plan to sack them?" Lady Bones asked quietly.

"Would there be love lost between them and Wizarding Britain? I think not. Lady Bones. Fudge will go down before the day ends."


	19. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18 Accusations **

"You've invited the Minister?" Lady Bones asked. "But –but he's supposed to be in Courtroom 10 for Professor Snape's –I mean, Lord Prince's –"

Lord Peverell smirked.

"Well, they can't possibly conduct a trial without the accused, right?" The young lord glanced around the table. "Much more so if the jury is absent."

"You mean, they cannot possibly hold a trial without a case," Lord Prince said, sipping his cup of tea.

"I've received a missive for that," Lord Greengrass interjected. "But let me tell you, Lord Prince, even before today's events, I have no intention of participating in that circus of a trial."

Lord Prince nodded towards him. "I appreciate your support, Lord Greengrass."

"Fudge thinks he can rule as he pleases. Umbridge believes no different. I, for one, am glad that Lord Peverell decided to make himself known." Lord Boot said. "Restoring the Houses of Peverell, Prince and Prewitt is a most impressive feat."

Lord Peverell smiled at him.

"I assure you, Lord Boot. It was nothing short of moving mountains."

"So, where were you all this time, Lord Peverell? I think we'd all like to know," said Lord Parkinson. "Wizarding Britain was embroiled in a war –I think we deserve to know where our esteemed High Lord was and his views on the last Dark Lord."

Aquamarine eyes turned to him, darkening slightly.

"I will give you the same response I gave Lord Prince here –I was hidden in plain sight, playing my own part in the war. And as for my view on Voldemort –" A few still managed to flinch at the mention of the name. "He was a right bastard with daddy issues." A few chuckles ensued from the oval table.

"How about Harry Potter?" Lord Abbot asked. "He has transferred governance of the Houses of Black and Slytherin to you, correct? He is now viewed as not only the Savior of the Wizarding World, but as possible opposition to Fudge's bigotry." Lord Peverell turned towards him.

"He did." The High Lord confirmed. "But only for a short, indefinite amount of time while he sorts his affairs." He then sighed. "The problem with us, Lord Abbot, is that we keep sending children to do the work of grown men."

"You speak like you are far beyond your age, my Lord." Lord Parkinson mused. "Surely, you can't be any older than Potter himself? And forgive me, but you certainly appear as a stranger to most of us –"

"I have just turned twenty-two myself, if you must know, Lord Parkinson. I was not pertaining to physical age but emotional maturity. It is common knowledge that Harry Potter began opposing Voldemort when he was just practically a wee babe. He finished his destiny as a man-child." The High Lord frowned. "As for myself, you can continue to doubt my identity –but I swear on my magic that I am who I claim to be."

A swirl of white light ensued from the young noble and enveloped him before disappearing completely. He then held his left hand out. "Orchideous!"

A bunch of roses appeared in his hand. He then nonchalantly tossed it to Lord Prince who was seated beside him. The older man frowned slightly, realizing what the High Lord meant by the gesture, before sighing and taking the bouquet. Lord Peverell smiled inwardly. The act of wandless magic was to serve two purposes: one, to prove to those present of his intentions and magical prowess –that he was a force to be reckoned with and be wary of at the same time –and two, to annoy the socks of Severus Snape on the sly.

True enough, that one simple act managed to achieve the High Lord's aims: nobody in the table questioned his identity any longer, and a discreetly-placed mild stinging hex from the Potions Master found its target in the High Lord's side.

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In a large round table, Remus Lupin was sipping his tea, all the while quietly glancing towards the oval table.

"Alright, Remus?" Aurora Sinistra noticed his unease. "He's quite good-looking, isn't he? Young too –"

Remus choked on his tea. "What –"

"The High Lord," Aurora sighed. I imagined him to be old and gray –but look at him!"

Remus wiped his lips and just nodded at his colleague, completely disregarding the weird feeling he got at being thought to be checking out his own honorary godson –never mind that the young man he was seeing barely looked like his cub.

"And Severus –when did he get that dreamy?" Aurora was saying now. "I never imagined him as a noble lord. Do you know where he inherited the title from?"

"His mother was the former Eileen Prince," Minerva McGonagall said, smiling.

"And Tristan Peverell? He should be just about post-Hogwarts age, but I don't recall him attending," Pomona Sprout joined in.

"He was homeschooled, I've heard," said Minerva, catching Remus' eye.

"It makes sense, after all. His identity had to be kept a secret. He was probably privately tutored overseas." It wasn't even a complete lie.

"A Peverell though? When was the last time that that name was heard?" Pomona wondered. "I'm no good at History but, if I am not mistaken, that name had no surviving heir within the last two centuries."

"Maybe an indirect heir?" Aurora suggested.

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About the same time Remus was choking on his tea, another similar conversation was being held at another nearby table.

"The High Lord is just so… dreamy," Ginny sighed. I wonder if he already has a girlfriend?"

Ron frowned. "I thought you liked Harry, Gin."

The youngest Weasley shrugged.

"It's not like he's here, Ron," she tossed her long, auburn locks behind her shoulders. "And besides, I'd much rather marry a Wizarding High Lord."

The rest at the Weasley Family table made disapproving faces at her pronouncement but said nothing. Even Molly was at a loss to say anything. Charlie on the other hand, was different.

"I don't know, Gin. The High Lord does not look like he's interested in looking for a wife –or a girlfriend for that matter," the dragon tamer's eyes glinted knowingly. Ginny glared at him.

"He's a noble lord, Charlie. Of course he needs a wife to give him an heir –"

"Ginevra!" Arthur's voice came on with a warning tone. "Stop this discussion right away."

"But dad, I was just –"

"Ginevra Molly Weasley!" It was Molly this time. "A young lady like you should focus on finishing school and not peddling herself to men she hardly knows! What would Harry say?"

"You know –"

"Gin –"

"That's just –"

"Kinda –"

"Low." The twins chorused. Ginny gave them a look.

"I'm just saying. Of course I'd finish Hogwarts." She then sighed and twirled a piece of her hair on a finger. Her family would not know ambition even if it bit them in the rear. She threw the High Lord a discreet glance once more before turning back to her cup of tea.

"Hey, the High Lord is standing up!" Ron observed, looking in the direction of the oval table.

"He must be making that announcement already," Arthur reckoned.

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The chatter at the oval table immediately ceased as Tristan stood up. Consequently, so did those at the other tables. The High Lord smiled to himself.

"Good afternoon to all. I hope everyone is enjoying themselves so far," the young nobleman began, beaming. Murmurs of assent among the crowd reached his ears. "Good, good. Now, as you can probably tell, I am a very impatient and demanding man." A chorus of laughter ensued. Tristan smirked. "Very well, I will make no move to correct that assumption. Having said that, let us cut to the chase, so to speak." The smile on his handsome face dropped a notch. He still looked pleasant, but now, there was no question that Lord Tristan Peverell was about to say something of great importance. His azure eyes swept the Ministry grand Ballroom, looking for any person whose attention was not on him –there was none. All eyes were on the High Lord, each face in rapt attention. Tristan then glanced behind him, his Court, Gareth –who was nodding silently in one corner –then finally, at Severus. The older man gave him the smallest of smiles. Lord Peverell smiled back before taking a deep breath and facing his audience once more.

"Dear citizens of Wizarding Britain, I am reclaiming my seat as the High Lord of the Ruling Court of Wizengamot and taking over the Ministry of Magic."

But just as surprised gasps rang all throughout the huge ballroom, the doors to the massive space burst open.

"Not so fast!"

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**A/N:** You see, the original chapter ended here, but as I was feeling bad that I can only give you two instead of three chapters today, I decided to add a little bit more to this. Ladies and Gentlemen, read on the first few moments of the following chapter. Enjoy!

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"Not so fast!"

A tall, thin and pissed-looking old man emerged from the great gilded doors, flanked by a short, brooding man and a heavy-set woman that looked more like a toad that drowned in a horrid pink table cloth. Tristan smiled widely upon seeing the trio.

"Ah, ex-Minister Fudge and your cohorts, lovely, lovely –"

Fudge strode towards the middle of the hall, fuming.

"What do you mean? How dare you assume –you impostor!"

Another chorus of gasps echoed all throughout the room. Did the Minister just accuse the High Lord of falsehood? Everyone looked from the old man to the young lord, and back. Fudge's face was clearly crumpled. Tristan on the other hand, maintained his pleasant façade. He cleared his throat.

"Cornelius Oswald Fudge, by the power of the Seat of the High Lord of Wizengamot, I hereby remove you from your position as Minister of Magic on the grounds of perjury, graft and corruption, and betrayal of public trust among many others. In accordance to the ICW –"

"Now, wait just right here, you ponce! You cannot do that!" Fudge tried to press forward to get to the young Lord. "Just who do you think you are?" He had almost reached the High Lord but a battalion of goblins blocked his path. He sneered at them. "Let me through! I am Minister of Magic! You have no right –"

Tristan smirked.

"As I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted, in accordance to the ICW statute, I as High Lord, hereby relieve you of your post and order for your arrest to await trial –"

Aurors suddenly materialized to arrest a wide-eyed, shocked ex-Minister.

"You cannot do this to me! I –"

Madame Longbottom then stood behind Lord Tristan Peverell.

"On the contrary, Fudge, this young man has every right to sack you."

Tristan beamed at her. "Thank you, my Lady."

Umbridge, now a violent shade of currant rum (think Vernon Dursley), was gripping the skirt of her horrible pink robes rather tightly. "But –but you can't be serious! The High Lord is a fairy tale! You must be a fake!" Tristan turned to look at her with an evil grin.

"I do not take lightly as to being accused of falsehood, Madame. Not that it matters to you, but this august body knows of the authenticity of my claims." Tristan glanced around and gestured grandly. Everyone had a look of affirmation on their faces. Umbridge paled.

"But –but –you can't do this!"

The High Lord gave her a patronizing look.

"Oh yes I can, dear Dolores, in fact –" The young nobleman turned around and caught one pair of obsidian eyes. His sapphire ones sparkled with mischief as he nodded at the man owning the dark irises, before turning to face Umbridge once more. "In fact, I can also order Lord Prince here to give you your, err, new designation."

Severus Snape, Lord Prince, emerged from right behind Tristan, a sinister glint dancing in his eyes. His face remained stoic though. Tristan watched him appreciatively, silently wondering how on earth could the man manage to keep such a straight face at a time like this.

"Dolores Jane Umbridge," Severus began, his voice cool and low, and devoid of any emotion other than contempt. "By order of the High Lord of Wizengamot, you are hereby removed from your post as Chief of Wizengamot on the grounds of perjury, graft and corruption and unjust coercion and illegal advances towards a Noble Lord and a member of the Court of Wizengamot –"

"But –but – Severus, I –"

"You shall be stripped of your titles and any rights to hold public office. You shall be taken into custody to await trial –"

"No! You cannot do that, Severus!" Umbridge screamed as aurors went to apprehend her. Severus frowned.

"Address me so informally again Madame, and I may just declare war on your House!"

Tristan smiled at the man.

"I cannot tell you how proud I am of you Lord Prince, " he quipped. "Why, it was only just yesterday that I was tutoring you on the ethics behind cuff links, and now, here you are threatening to declare feuds."

Severus smirked.

"I did have a great tutor."

Tristan grinned.

"Your praise is too much –"

"I meant Gareth, Lord Peverell," Severus snorted. Tristan rolled his eyes.

"Wait a bloody minute! You cannot do this!" Fudge, who seemed to have found his voice again screamed. "The representations aren't even complete! The Houses of Black and Slytherin –it should be here! And the Potter brat isn't! You cannot do this without a full Court! I will have you all executed for High Treason! You impostor! You –"

Tristan waved his hand and Fudge was silenced automatically. The young lord's pleasant face now took on a more serious look.

"The only one to be executed is you, Fudge! You have wronged the magical people of Britain for far too long." He moved closer to the old ex-minister who was by that time, already shaking in his spot. "I will make sure you pay. You and your bigotry are the cause of discord and enmity. I will not have you breed another Voldemort amongst our people. Never again." Tristan then eyed the whole room of people. "Not when I am alive."

The crowd stood in rapt attention.

"As for the Houses you have mentioned, you will find it public knowledge that Harry Potter had relinquished control of them to me for the time being." Tristan ended matter-of-factly. When no one dared to contest these pronouncements, he seemed satisfied and nodded to his liaison Gareth.

"Have the accused taken away."

The aurors led silenced Fudge and a whimpering Umbridge. A stony-faced Scrimgeour followed suit. Tristan addressed the crown once more.

"This is not about me, this is about our future. And unless we make things right now, there will be no hope for us, nor our children. If any of you should go against this vision of a better world, rest assured, you will be dealt with accordingly."


	20. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19 Reforms**

The next few days flew by in frenzy as Tristan took both the Ministry and the Wizengamot by storm, initiating reforms.

The first thing that he did was call for a full Court hearing to appoint a new Interim Minister of Magic –until the time came for proper elections once more. Kingsley Shacklebolt, former Head Auror, was the unanimous choice. He was as clean and as steadfast as they could get, and for that, Tristan was greatly pleased. Under the High Lord's direction, the Minister became accountable to the Wizengamot and therefore, checks and balances were conducted on a regular basis. Following this, a directive was also issued, calling for a revamp on the numerous departments under the Office of the Minister. Officials that were proved to be corrupt were sacked right away and immediately replaced by individuals who have gone under strict evaluation and background checks to ensure their integrity and competency. Gone were the days of 'buying Ministry positions.

The coveted and powerful position of DMLE Head remained with Madame Amelia Bones, taking in Gawain Robards as her Deputy and Head Auror at the same time. The Department of International Magical Cooperation was entrusted into the capable hands of Arthur Weasley who accepted the position teary-eyed, remembering that his dead son Percy had once coveted the said spot. He left the Department for Misuse of Muggle Artifacts (now renamed the Department for Muggle Affairs) to his contemporary Wallard Perkins.

Other notable departments are as follows: The Department for the Control of Magical Creatures, now reformed and renamed as the Magical Diversity Council. The Council, whose primary purpose was to pass, repeal and remand laws concerning magical beings, was comprised of delegates from all noted magical races: goblins, elves (yes, even house elves), centaurs, vampires, werewolves, giants, veelas and faeries among many others. They answer directly to the Minister of Magic through special liaison Amos Diggory; The Department of Budget, Finance and Taxation under Maxwell Johnson; The Department of Health, Sanitaion and Medical Research under Atticus Flint; The Department of Social Welfare and Child Services under Druella Davies; The Department of Misuse of Magical and Underage Wizardry under Mafalda Hopkirk; The Deoartment for Regulation of Magical Beasts and Plantlife under Lionel Clearwater; The Department of Magical Education and Public Information, headed by Griselda Marchbanks; The Department of Magical Games and Amusement, entrusted to former Quidditch hero Adrian Lynch; and the newest Department of Economics, Technological Innovations and Heritage Integration under the first-ever Muggle-bortn department head, Dirk Cresswell (not related to the Noble House of Cresswell).

The Minister gave all the Department Heads a marching order right on their first day on the job: get rid of corruption and implement all Wizengamot-approved reforms.

For the part of the Wizengamot, the High Lord immediately called for the absolution of the post of the Chief of the Court, effectively reverting to the structure before the time of Nile Peverell . All of the current ruling lords and ladies were also asked to declare all their House affiliations to better facilitate the distribution of seats and voting power.

To further the efficiency of the august body, the High Lord also took the liberty of forming commissions for special pet projects that he had in mind.

Lord Lucius Malfoy, Lord Geoffrey Greengrass and Lady Amelia Bones formed the Defense Commission. They were tasked to acquire information from international defense agencies such as the CIA and the Interpol regarding any rising threat to their security as a nation and as a people. Any rising Dark Lord would be nipped in the bud even before they could emerge and cause much damage.

Lady Augusta Longbottom, Lord Roger Davies and Lord Percival Abbot formed the Heritage Commission. Their task was to research and reinstate long-forgotten magical traditions and develop a new educational curriculum to reintroduce them to younger generation.

Lord Arnold Parkinson, Lord Perseus Boot and Lord William Weasley formed the Independence Commission. Their task was to ascertain and develop ways in which Magical Britain could be able to produce their own supplies for food, raw materials and other products of necessity. Currently, the aforementioned commodities were still sourced in the muggle world and these dealings, although needed, greatly put the Statute of Secrecy at great risk. The High Lord thought it prudent to lessen interactions with muggle suppliers for this reason.

The Orphan Commission was a project that the High Lord held close to his heart, hence, he entrusted it to no one else but himself and Lord Severus Snape. Their aiom was to scour muggle orphanages and institutions, as well as muggle-dominant families in an attempt to counsel and rehabilitate and offer assistance to the caregivers of displaced or orphaned magical children. IN the event that an intervention is not sufficient, these magical children shall be placed in the hands of Child Services until a suitable home could be found for them. No more magical child would grow up abused, neglected, unloved, or ignorant of their rightful heritage. No more Tom Riddles or Harry Potters or even Severus Snapes would ever set foot in Hogwarts again.

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"Everything seems to be off to a great start," Severus commented as he entered the private office of the High Lord of Wizengamot where the said esteemed nobleman was sitting behind a handsome mahogany desk without his goblin-made glamour on. Tristan, or rather Harry, smiled at his former professor and tutee.

"It's a start, Severus. The success of which, still depends on whether people will continue with the changes we have initiated. It's still a long way to go, I'm afraid." The young man's emerald eyes held the Potions Master's gaze. "Still so many thing s to do. I mean, I trust Kingsley, but he's only one man."

Severus sighed and approached his former student and tutor, settling on the space behind Harry's seat. Long, potion-stained fingers reached for the young lord's tensed shoulders and began to knead them. In the days that had followed their departure from the Lair, Harry had gotten used to this more sensitive side of his once Potions Professor whenever they were alone together. If before, the thought of Severus Snape giving him a shoulder massage was alien, it was now common place most especially right after a very intense and tiring meeting at the Ministry. It was a very welcome development in their relationship that they were now more comfortable with small affectionate touches between them (aside from the occasional snogging of course).

"You have the Wizengamot Harry. You have me, Do not try to do it all by yourself. Your Gryffindor sense of heroics is grossly outdated."

Harry had his eyes closed and was enjoying the sensations that Severus' hands were giving him.

"Mmm… I know that Sev. Believe me, I'm tired of always being the one to do things –Merlin, your hands are heavenly…"

The onyx-eyed wizard smirked and removed his hands from Harry's shoulders. The younger man opened his eyes in protest, but that desire was immediately squashed when he turned around to face the older wizard. Severus had THAT glint in his eyes.

"Let me assure you, Lord Peverell, my hands are not the only divine things about me." His bored tone was greatly contrasted with the teasing look on his face. Harry grinned before schooling his features into a serious look. He cleared his throat before launching into his 'High Lord' voice.

"Care to test that theory, Lord Prince?"

Severus feigned shock and alarm.

"THEORY? What theory? That is a FACT, my Lord. Your careless words insulted my dignity. I demand satisfaction in House of Prince tradition!"

Harry raised his eyebrows almost comically. The indignant look on Severus' face seemed genuine, but he knew better.

"And what satisfaction would that be, Lord Prince?"

The indefatigable Lord Prince waved his hand wordlessly in the direction of the High Lord's office door. Harry could hear the locks clicking in place. Severus then inched closer to the younger wizard and whispered in his ear.

"Surprise me,"

A look of utter bewilderment crossed the emerald-eyed man's face. Was Severus really giving him leave to do what he thought it was? But a glance at those fathomless irises told him more than any word could have. Harry let out a small chuckle and pulled away slightly –but not long after, crushed his lips against the Potions Master's. The kiss quickly heated up, and both Lords were letting out soft moans of pleasure in no time. The pressure of initiating quickly departed Harry's mind as the naturally dominant Severus took over the choreography of tongue and lips. Soon the two were panting and in need of Oxygen. Severus then pulled back with a small smirk on his face.

"That was extremely satisfying. Although I have to say that you, my dear High Lord, look clearly debauched. So, what were you saying about theory again?"

"No theory –FACT." An out of breath Harry Potter gasped. "Now shut up and kiss me again –or I will pass a law requiring hair gel to be used by everyone under 75!"

Severus raised one amused eyebrow.

"Heaven forbid the monstrosity of that crude muggle invention. He made then made a show of shrugging. "I guess I should dedicate my life to make sure that that piece of legislation does not see the light of day." Severus said with a mock seriousness before recapturing Harry's lips with another searing kiss.

"Hmm… and who had Gryffindorian tendencies now, huh, Sev?" The younger wizard teased, his hands now boldly toying with the many buttons of his older man's robes –Suddenly, it seemed like a huge barrier between the two dark-haired wizards just crumbled down with that exchange.

"You. And it is not Gryffindorian tendencies, but Slytherin self-preservation." Severus murmured against the skin of Harry's exposed neck, the vibrations of which, caused the young lord to tremble anticipation.

"Enough talk, Sev. Just kiss me senseless!"

Severus glared and pulled away.

"Really, where are your manners, Lord Peverell? Even tyrants such as you should have them."

Harry returned the glare with a roll of eyes to boot.

"BY the order of the High Lord Of Wizengamot –"

"Dear Merlin, help us all!" The Potions Master sighed resignedly before pulling the emerald-eyed nobleman close to him once more and captured those damned lips again, effectively silencing any more of the High Lord's possibly abominable decrees. A few minutes later, a madly-grinning Harry Potter pulled away.

"For a Slytherin, you certainly are self-sacrificial, my dear Lord Prince."

A heavily panting Severus Snape scowled.

"For a Gryffindor, you sure are manipulative, brat."

Harry laughed before diving in for another kiss.

**-END OF PART ONE -**

**Note : PART 2 is up. Please see my profile page for details.**


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